Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow
by LiquidCaliban
Summary: I enjoyed the chemistry between Captain America and Agent Romanoff in TWS, so this is a story about how they got from the Avengers movie to that point. It's about their SHIELD missions and evolving relationship, eventually mutating from canon like a Galapagos finch. Or something. Reading is appreciated and reviews are brainfood.
1. Welcome to the Jungle

Disclaimer: Ownership is overrated, unless you own super-awesome things like Marvel does. Then I'm out in the cold, cold world. Without a sweater.

Spoilers: _The Avengers_ and I suppose _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. The fic takes place in the imaginary period between the two movies when the Cap and Natasha are working together regularly.

Rating: T for the most part, because I assume master assassins don't speak PG-13. You'll get a chapter warning if there's any M-rated content. It's a WIP, so I'm not sure yet.

Summary: Basically the adventures of Captain America and Agent Romanoff as they get closer over the course of several spaghetti-incident missions. Canonish through _The Avengers_, but diverging from TWS because…look, I can't try to merge a movie and comic-verse again. The end result is a madness I shall never disclose. So movies only and please don't correct me on comic canon because I am not traveling that road again. Blu-rays are expensive enough without omnibuses and retcons and other such nonsense. Romanodgers, from what I gather re: pairing names.

* * *

><p>Captain Steve Rogers blinked in the bright light of the chilly DC winter as he stepped off the rear ramp of the jet, hoping his appearance wouldn't attract the usual attention and then some. The mission and subsequent flight back from the Amazon had been one of his worst experiences thus far in his short career as an agent of SHIELD, behind the Battle of New York and the cafeteria meatloaf. He didn't need groups of women in tight-fitting uniforms eyeing him like lionesses on the hunt. 21st century women were certainly not shy about what they seemed to want from him and he didn't think he'd ever be comfortable with the attention. Nevertheless, he politely waved to two female mechanics who had run up to attend to the jet he was disembarking.<p>

"Move, Rogers." A half-hearted shove accompanied the annoyed command as Natasha passed by him to hand off her backpack of filthy supplies to the waiting quartermaster. At least there was one woman in his life he didn't have to worry about despite tight, form-fitting, figure-accentuating…shoot, he needed to stop walking behind her.

He handed over his slightly heavier though no less begrimed pack with a smile before turning to follow his partner toward the hangar entrance of the Triskelion. "You should be a little nicer to your footstool."

"You're the one who decided to take a nap on the floor."

"Like you couldn't have used the sleep." He suspected she'd been just as out of it as he had been as he rubbed his stomach where her boots had been sitting heavily when he'd woken to their pilot's announcement of their final descent. "You could have at least taken your shoes off."

She spun on one of said heels to face him. "Got a foot fetish? Or just worried about a little extra dirt?"

"Nah." He assumed the mud on his face relieved him of her usual response to his blushes and instead looked down at his uniform, noting that there was no longer any white visible, with only the merest suggestions of blue and red. "Does SHIELD have a good dry cleaner?"

"Just chuck it in the laundry cart." She exhaled a puff of steam before resuming her walk inside. Her normally black catsuit was at least as dirty as his uniform, even if didn't show the dirt quite as obviously. Obvious was for other things.

He hurried to avoid another stare/blush combination by falling into step beside her as they stepped out of the wind. "Think we'll have a chance to shower before debriefing?"

Maria Hill's voice echoed off the walls of the hangar in well-timed reply, "Agent Romanoff and Captain Rogers, report to Director Fury's office immediately."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Field agent to public address system. Hope Hill got a hell of a pay-raise for that bullshit."

"I like Hill. She's very…competent."

"Can't argue that, but you'd have liked her better when she actually did stuff." She sagged against the rear wall of the elevator and called out, "Director's office."

He waited until the doors had closed and the elevator had begun to rise before saying, "So, by your estimation, anyone who hasn't crawled through a mudpit in the past few days is some kind of slacker?"

"Considering you dropped me in that mudpit…"

"And jumped in after you…"

"Right, because you assumed that I couldn't fucking swim…"

"I was just…"

"Pause elevator."

A barely noticeable jolt accompanied the computer's cool response, "Ascent halted."

Steve was momentarily flustered by the fact that they'd somehow advanced into a confrontational position. "There used to be a guy who operated the elevator. You'd tell him what floor you wanted and…he just rode up and down all day, pressing buttons. Up and down all day. I never really thought about how boring it must have been, but during the Depression… Of course, I never lived in a building with an elevator, much less an elevator operator. They had them at some of the hotels when I was traveling around selling war bonds, but…" He trailed off as she held up a finger.

"You make a good point with way too many words. Turn off all video and audio recording."

"Recording off," the computer's impersonal voice replied.

Now he was really starting to get nervous. "I feel like there should be some kind of authorization code to be able to do that."

"Biometrics, Rogers. My voiceprint is enough to confirm such a low level request."

"Right. So…I could…"

"Why did you jump in after me? We'd been swimming upcurrent for practically two days prior to that."

"I…um…" He couldn't deny that she was a strong swimmer. Or that his heart had leapt into his throat when the last flash of red had submerged beneath the unpredictable waters of the swamp they'd been swinging, Tarzan-like over, in pursuit of a group of arms dealers. He had released his grip on the vine without a thought, only to be slapped across the face half a second later when she'd realized he'd put the mission in jeopardy for her safety. They had lost less than two minutes in real time catching up with the FARC-associated guerillas; in fact, they had spent more time during the brief interrogation dispelling Natasha's annoyance at their lack of familiarity with something called 'The Song of the Rebels' from some movie called _Bananas_. He hadn't yet added it to his list.

There were more pressing things on his mind at the moment, anyway. "You shot two prisoners."

"Non-fatally. Thigh wounds are survivable if you get care in time. And you think they would have gone back to innocent, law-abiding lives if I hadn't?"

"I think you acted a little hastily, yes. We could have taken them to the nearest…"

"Wake up, Rogers. We were miles away from anyone who would have given those thugs a second glance. We stopped a potential diplomatic nightmare, not to mention casualties. Any idea how many cruise ships dock in Cartagena? Or Navy ships? Because that's where those RPGs were headed."

"We still…."

"No. We did the only thing we could. And we got to blow some shit up. Always a bonus."

"That…" He forgot his pointless argument against her plan that had started with a grenade and ended with running like hell as he stared into her green eyes for what felt like an eternity. Even covered in the filth from their mission, Natasha couldn't help being beautiful. He'd been noticing it more and more lately, almost to the point of distraction. A little voice in the back of his head urged him on as he licked his lips and leaned down. Were her eyelids actually fluttering closed or was that just his imagination? He allowed his own eyes to close and…

She wasn't looking quite as pleased as he was with himself as he straightened a moment later. "That was pathetic."

All his self-assurance deflated instantly. "Sorry. I thought…I thought we were having a moment."

"We _were_. Then you kissed me like people kiss their grandmothers who forgot their denture paste." She returned to her slouching posture against the wall, leaving him standing at near attention in the center of the small space. It seemed to get even smaller when she asked, "Do you want to have sex with me?"

He came close to choking on the disconnect between his brain, mouth and male anatomy, but managed to stammer, "W-what?" without making any ungentlemanly grabs.

"It's a yes or no question, Rogers. Not one that should require too much thought, either." He couldn't help but note that the swamp had gotten into all of her…hidden…places as she lowered the zipper on her catsuit an inch or two. "Well?"

He could only assume that what happened next was the result of the same sort of alien possession that had gotten him on the track to reach this specific moment in time. That was it. Really, that was the only reasonable explanation not involving skintight catsuits and sticky jungle nights and unconscious trust built only through shared danger. Therefore, by universal conspiracy, he growled, "Yes."

"Exactly. When you kiss a woman, you're telling her just how much you want to get her clothes off. Now…" She shook her shoulders and arms as if she were preparing for a quick sparring match. "Again. And make me believe it."

Although his rational mind took exception to her philosophy of kissing, he found that he was powerless to stop himself from leaning in once again. This was…okay, this was a _kiss_. Her arms rested on his shoulders and he began to relax into her. He was just getting used to the feel of her lips when he realized that his tongue was now involved. Right. This was working. He was standing in an elevator at work, kissing his extremely deadly partner and it was pretty swell. Just as he had decided to invite his hands to the party, she pulled back, settling back onto her feet from her tiptoes.

She was smirking in a self-satisfied way. "Mmm. Better. I almost believed it. Little swampy, but I suppose I can't really blame you for that, even if you did dump me in a mudpit. We'll have to try it again once we've showered."

"Right." Why was he agreeing to that? He was still feeling slightly dazed when the elevator resumed its ascent. The silence stretched until he felt compelled to break it. "I…I…your hair?"

"Hm?"

"Your hair. It looks nice." He glanced over at her and resisted the urge to pull the large dead bug from a few tangled strands."Uh, not right now, obviously, but…I mean, it's longer. I like it."

"Oh. Thanks." She was silent for a moment. "Your haircut looks good on you. Much more modern."

"Thanks." He fought the urge to run a hand through his own surely disheveled locks, instead checking that his helmet was still safely clipped to his belt. "Didn't think anyone had noticed."

"I think all the women in the building have. You're a _very_ popular topic of conversation in the gym locker room."

He didn't get to ask her to clarify this alarming information as they stepped out of the elevator outside of Director Fury's office.

* * *

><p>Natasha Romanoff didn't look over her shoulder to ensure that she'd held the door open long enough for Steve to enter Fury's office behind her. She made straight for the small sitting area and flopped onto the couch. "Are these just for show, Director? Because someone really fucked up on the cushions." She squirmed partly to find a comfortable position and partly to spread as much jungle grime around as possible. "Did you order them stuffed with gravel?"<p>

Fury was unmoved. "Really, Agent Romanoff? You assume I called you here to complain about and ruin my furniture?"

She shrugged and made a show of propping her feet on the coffee table. "Leather is easy to clean, Director. If you were so worried about extra work for the janitorial staff, you wouldn't have called us up for an immediate debrief. Colombians angry they couldn't clean up their own mess?"

"Brazilians, actually. They're curious about a big explosion in Amazonas near the Colombian border. Turns out a known arms dealer ABIN has been trailing for months came pelting out of the jungle near the scene not long ago with a story about a big guy with a shield and a redhead with a mouth dirtier than she was blowing up all his amigos. State is on my ass for an explanation. And just sit the hell down, Rogers. You're making me nervous."

She didn't adjust her position as Steve sat on the very edge of the cushion beside her. "Well, I could check my passport, Director, but I'm certain I haven't been anywhere near South America in months."

"Cute. Now report."

She sighed and considered sitting up, but decided Steve was sitting uncomfortably enough for the both of them; he hadn't even unhooked his shield from his back. She shifted her voice if not her posture to 'official,' saying, "We tracked the expected shipment of RPGs up the Japurá River for three days. Apparently, FARC isn't good with maps or GPS because we were definitely in their camp when we found their arsenal and dealt with it."

"With extreme prejudice?"

"SHIELD should stop issuing me grenades if they disapprove of the results. As for the final outcome, you can hardly hold us responsible if they were stupid enough to store all their munitions together in the middle of their main camp. C4 can be so touchy once you trigger a chain reaction."

"Uh huh. Captain Rogers, anything to add?"

She watched with tempered enjoyment as Steve's head snapped up. "Sir? I mean, um, no, sir. Nothing to add, really. It was…very humid. My first time in the rainforest."

"He caught a catfish."

Fury looked slightly amused for the first time since they had walked in. "Well, I'll be sure to have our taxidermy department mount it when they get a moment."

"We have a…?" Steve did have a pretty adorable expression when he was sorting out sarcasm from actual modern improvements. Not that she gave a damn. "I mean, that wouldn't be possible, sir. We ate most of it."

"Needed hot sauce," she added. "Although the way he just sorta grabbed it out of the river was pretty impressive. What'd that bastard weigh, Rogers, forty, fifty pounds?"

"I wouldn't say more than twenty-five."

She could just make out the tips of his ears going red. "Still, if we could snag a mission in, say, the Hyogo Prefecture, I will definitely make a point of bitching about the MREs again. Kobe beef. Of course, I might be willing to settle for a shower and McDonalds right now if someone gives me a break from the active duty roster."

Fury nodded brusquely. "You're both off for the next thirty-six. Get some sleep and get cleaned up. You smell like the dumpster behind a restaurant the heath department just closed."

"Thank you, sir." She jumped up and headed for the door without questioning where Fury had come up with that metaphor. She crammed the thought that she was really rushing to avoid another elevator ride with Steve.

That had been…surprising. She was going to need a little time to figure it out.

* * *

><p>"Hold that…" Maria Hill realized too late that she shouldn't have made the request, but still managed to squeeze out, "elevator."<p>

"Hill."

She nodded curtly and stated her destination before saying, "Romanoff. Just back?"

"Mmhmm. We can't all pilot a desk, you know."

She ignored the dig, wrinkling her nose. "What is that smell?"

"Classified," Romanoff answered without a beat. "Should've warned you to wait for the next one."

"Successful mission, anyway?"

"Is there any other kind?"

"Wouldn't expect any less." Hill shook her head, remembering the few ops she and Romanoff and run together. An education and a half, for sure, provided you could get past the idea that the person you were working with was a lot scarier than the ones you were fighting. Finally feeling safe enough in her position to do so, she muttered a line she'd been saving since their first mission in Riga, "Phenomenal cosmic ego, itty-bitty agent. How tall are you anyway? 4'10"?"

"5'3". But I think I get a nice boost from the wedge heels on the new official boots. Fury let you pick those out so you could still dress like a field agent while making photocopies and passing memos?"

Hill bit back a retort about her actual duties. It was never a good idea to volunteer information to Romanoff, whether she was fishing, confirming a suspicion, or just being a bitch, as Hill suspected. Of course, if _she_ had been the one stuck slogging through a stinking South American swamp for the past week… She had to smile at least a little. Being Fury's personal covert ops lead had its benefits, including sitreps on all current ops. One-upping Romanoff on intel was icing. She made the mistake of breathing through her nose and coughed. "I hope you're planning to hit the showers."

"On my way there now. It really is a shame we can't conduct more ops from five-star beach resorts. Think you could run that past Fury next time you're reading him his messages?"

"I…" Hill once again forced herself to ignore the bait. "I think the rookies are just ending their basic hand-to-hand class for the day. Try not to traumatize too many of them."

"Isn't that part of their official training? I handle the women's locker room and Barton takes the men's. When he's around," Romanoff added, with the slightest huff of annoyance.

Hill had to resist a real grin this time, knowing where Agent Barton was and what he was doing. No need to share compartmentalized information. She offered an olive branch instead. "You do realize that you terrify most of the people in this building."

Romanoff gave a snort of laughter. "Because I'm fucking terrifying. Have you considered laying off the ones who aren't scared? I mean, this is supposed to be an _intelligence_ agency."

And the ego. Of course. "Think you have enough shampoo? Or shall I send housekeeping up with more?"

She shrugged, dislodging a slimy tendril of greenish something from somewhere under her catsuit. "I'll just borrow yours." The elevator announced her destination and she stepped through the doors without a backward glance.

"Stay out of my locker, Romanoff!" she shouted. A raised middle finger was her only reply. Administration was the fifth circle of hell sometimes.

Hill was alone in the elevator for only one floor, where Agent Sitwell joined her with a polite nod. After a moment, he sniffed noticeably. "What is that…"

"Don't ask."


	2. The Black Knight Always Triumphs

Natasha stepped out of the first shower stall and moved down to the third, where she had set her soap, shampoo and Hill's conditioner ten minutes before. Someone was going to have a long night scrubbing the jungle mud splattered on the walls and floor of the first stall, but at least she finally felt clean enough to take an actual shower.

As she worked a lather into her hair she wondered if Steve as getting as much enjoyment out of this simple ritual as she was. He had noticed that her hair was growing out, a sure sign that he was paying careful attention to her. She could always show him she appreciated the compliment. It wasn't as if she was unfamiliar with the men's locker room. She could easily slip in and check on him, probably still soaping up his exquisitely sculpted body. Kissing him in the elevator hadn't been planned, but there was definitely potential there. He needed practice, but…damn, the thought of him showering was tempting.

A sudden burst of voices interrupted her train of thought, probably for the best. She didn't need to be thinking about Rogers in non-work safe situations in the SHIELD shower room. Later, maybe. She allowed a grin to tug up the corners of her lips slightly. The steaming water washing the mission away was enough for right now. Closing her eyes, she stood under the hot water as the stalls around her filled with women discussing a training session. These must be the rookies Hill had warned her about. They were clearly greener than she had assumed if they'd yet to get the warning to avoid the Black Widow whenever possible. It was disconcerting. She hadn't decided if she was annoyed or pleased by the lack of recognition from subordinates when a voice interrupted her reverie.

"Excuse me, but are you almost done?"

She maintained her position, not opening her eyes. "No."

"Not trying to rush you, but we just finished a really intense fighting class and I'm dying for a shower."

Still keeping her eyes closed, Natasha smiled serenely. "Isn't there one free on the end?"

"Yeah, but it's kind of nasty in there. It's like someone let their dog swim in the Potomac and then brought it in here to clean it up." The woman laughed at her own joke, drawing a few weak giggles from the other suddenly quiet women in the room. "Anyway, you gonna be finished soon?"

Natasha sighed and stepped forward, looking at the rookie for the first time: tall blonde, athletic build, well-educated, no clue what she had just gotten herself into. She crossed her arms on top of the stall door. "I suggest you learn a little patience, Blondie."

The woman raised a sculpted eyebrow as she looked down disbelievingly. "_Excuse_ me?"

"Yes, you're excused. Go."

The room was silent but for the sound of running water. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"If that were meant as an actual question it would be the smartest thing you've asked so far." This was becoming a little fun. Natasha tapped her fingernails against her arm and adopted her best innocent expression. "Who do _you_ think I am?"

The woman was taken aback, but hid it fairly well. "You? You're probably just some low-level functionary whose only power comes from teasing new agents that haven't yet learned you're beneath notice."

"Ah." Natasha took back her earlier assessment that the woman could be capable of deception; she was an open book. And already thinking of herself as an agent? This wouldn't require any heavy lifting. "So, you're Ivy League. Not criminology, so probably not Penn. Hm." She put a finger against her lips. "Something pre-law related."

"International relations, actually. At Brown."

"Because you couldn't get into Columbia, which has the superior IR program. And a semester abroad in Amsterdam?"

"That…how could you know…" The woman was finally exhibiting the good sense to look alarmed, though it was probably more about the ding Natasha had put in the Miss Perfect-persona she had put on for the rest of the rookies. "You obviously read my file. This is just some stupid game you're playing."

"Everything's a game, Blondie. You just haven't figured it out yet. Since you ignored lesson number one, let's move on to lesson two. Listen."

"To what?"

"Shhh."

"The only thing I hear is water running. It is a shower room."

"A shower room filled with women who have been intently listening to our conversation for the past minute or so. We won't go through all the permutations, but I'd say the two most likely are they haven't quite grasped the situation and are waiting to see what happens or they're smarter than they look and you've got fewer friends here than you thought."

Natasha smiled placidly as the moment dragged on. The blonde seemed frozen by indecision. If that didn't disqualify her from full field agent training, nothing would. Well, weeding out unsuitable candidates was just part of the process and the process was _always_ happening. The successful ones figured that out quickly, even if there was no one around to point and compassionately whisper, 'Run when you see red.' An escape route finally appeared when one of the other rookies almost shouted, "Sandra, I'm all set. Take mine."

"Sure. Yeah. Thanks."

Natasha had closed her eyes and stepped back under the water before the scene had ended. It wasn't really over yet, anyway. So much for washing away all the little aggravations. She remained in the shower until the last of the other women had left the room. Maybe Sandra would have the self-preservation instincts to dress quickly and leave, though it seemed doubtful. Natasha turned off the taps with a glimmer of regret. It wasn't that she liked hurting people, just that some seemed so deserving of…just pain. It wasn't as if that were the worst thing she could give them. She grabbed a towel from the stack at the entrance of the shower room and wrapped it around her midsection, taking another two for her hair.

She had almost made it to her locker in one of the more secluded corners of the small labyrinth when she overheard a much smarter rookie talking to Sandra.

"I didn't want to say anything in there, but I'm almost sure that was Black Widow!"

"Seriously? That midget? There's no way. I could snap her in half!"

Natasha didn't pause as she added a little more saunter to her walk past the women. "Care to try?"

"You obnoxious…"

Natasha simply pivoted smoothly on the ball of her foot, never hearing the end of the statement as Sandra crashed into the lockers on the opposite side of the aisle. She was bleeding from a gash on her forehead when she rose shakily to her feet, raising her fists like an amateur boxer. "Is that all you've got?"

Natasha didn't even bother to assume a fighting stance. "Look, I'm just off-mission and you're a moron, so why don't you quit while you're ahead?"

The smarter rookie immediately agreed, "C'mon, Sandra, let's just go grab a bite to eat and…"

Sandra was on the floor again, this time the victim of an unnoticeable dodge and a well-placed bench. Natasha hadn't even considered dropping her armful of towels and bottles. "You should really listen to your friend. She seems to have a better grasp on the situation than…seriously?"

Sandra was on her feet again, though swaying. "I'm gonna…I took Taekwondo in…why are the walls moving?"

Natasha turned to the more capable trainee and asked, "Do you know how to get to medical?"

The clearly terrified brunette shook her head. "I, uh…no."

"Good. The first step is knowing you know nothing."

"Socrates."

"Hm. Don't start feeling clever…what's your name?"

"Clark, ma'am. Miranda Clark."

"I'll keep that in mind. Southeast elevator to the tenth floor. Make a left." As Clark began to lead the dazed Sandra toward the door, Natasha added, "Contact Agent Hill for discharge papers."

She didn't wait for the rookie to ask whose.

* * *

><p>Steve scrubbed the straps of his shield until the leather soap was nearly dry. He couldn't tell anymore if the smell was in the material or his nostrils. This was what he got for taking work home, but he didn't feel right about leaving his shield with anyone else. He was going to get it clean no matter how much elbow grease it took, and the jungle was sorely mistaken if it thought it could match Captain America for sheer effort.<p>

He was well into his sixth scrubbing session with the brush when the door to his apartment banged open. He jumped, holding his shield in a defensive position.

"Mmm. Leather soap. Smells like a stable. I like it." The door closed with a click.

He lowered the shield. "Is it really so hard to knock?"

"My hands were full." It was hard to frown as Natasha held up a pizza and a six-pack.

"You know I can't get drunk, right?"

"Who said I was sharing the beer? The extra meat special should be enough for both of us, anyway."

He took the pizza from her and opened the box to inhale the heavenly aroma. "One of my favorite things about the new century."

"You're too easy, Rogers."

His mind flashed back to their encounter in the elevator earlier that day. "Maybe not." He placed the pizza box on the coffee table. "So you like the smell of stables?"

"Women and horses. It's some kind of genetic connection. Don't ask me to explain it; it just _is_."

"I've never been horseback riding."

"Well, I'll just have to take you sometime, cowboy." She dropped onto the couch without taking off her jacket. "In the meantime, we've got coconuts."

He didn't ask for clarification. "You brought a movie?"

"Several, but put in the top one first."

They had just learned that Camelot was a silly place when Natasha opened her third beer and asked, "Did you catch the rookies in the locker room?"

"Uh huh." He swallowed a palate-searing bite of his fourth and final slice. "The usual. Couple of autographs, couple of tentative sparring matches. You?"

"Don't ask."

"That bad?"

"Maybe one."

He wasn't sure if she meant one good or one bad. "Glad I didn't need your approval before I joined SHIELD."

"What makes you think you didn't?"

He turned his attention back to something about shrubberies. Giving Natasha the final say over who got to be a SHIELD agent or didn't was both a comforting and harrowing proposition. Their brief partnership had had its ups and downs, but he liked having her on his side. There was just something about a woman who could claim catching a ride on an alien hover-thing as fun that…he tried not to think too hard about what _that_ was, instead taking the last piece of pizza from the box.

She was five beers deep when he swallowed his last bite of crust and she leaned into him as a rabbit inexplicably killed a knight. She mumbled, "Just so we're clear, I asked if you wanted to have sex with me. I was not offering you sex with me."

"Of course." What was a holy hand grenade? "Wait, what?"

"A girl likes to know where she stands. You said yes, I'm happy with that."

"Um…"

"Relax. Watch the movie. You're going to need a working knowledge of Monty Python if you want to communicate effectively with most of the techs."

"This doesn't make sense."

"Neither do they. _Life of Brian_ will confuse you even more. I promise."

He had no idea what he was supposed to be confused about when he changed the DVDs shortly afterwards.


	3. Some Nights

Steve stretched his arms out to the sides before opening his eyes and encountered an unexpected obstacle to his right. Without opening his eyes, he gave it an experimental poke.

"Quit it."

"Natasha?"

"Ngh."

He finally decided this was not, in fact, an uncomfortable dream and opened his eyes. Nearly all his covers had been pulled into a cocoon with a few stray red locks just visible at the top. "Um, you're in my bed."

Her voice was muffled and sleepy. "I got cold on the couch."

"I told you I would have taken the couch, but you insisted."

She mumbled something unintelligible in response and made no move to indicate she planned on getting out of bed anytime soon. He sighed and looked at the clock. It was barely past six and Fury had given them both the day off. No need to push her. Or himself, for that matter. He didn't really even need to go for a run. He would have been tempted to try sleeping in if not for a nagging uncertainty about his bedmate.

She had stayed the night without argument after he'd suggested she'd probably had too much to drink to drive home; he'd expected a little resistance, considering it was Natasha, but he'd been grateful she'd made it easy at the time. Now, in the light of day with her wrapped up in his comforter beside him, he wasn't sure he trusted her intentions. Heck, it had been less than a day since she'd…he frowned, still unsure of how to characterize their encounter in the elevator. He didn't have a problem with kissing her, couldn't deny that he'd enjoyed it and would be happy to try it again, given the opportunity. He just couldn't be sure what it all _meant_. There was mutual attraction – he was sure about that, at least – but he had no idea where to go from there.

Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was colder than he'd expected. He glanced toward the window and noticed a coating of frost. He stood slowly, stretching out his back as he did so. He made his way to the window and pulled back the curtain on a world of swirling white. "Hey, it snowed. It's still snowing."

He got an uninterested sounding grunt from the lump of bedding, so he shrugged and padded out to the living room to adjust the heat. Before heading back to the bedroom, he collected the empty bottles and pizza box and placed them with the rest of the recycling. He was folding the blanket heaped on the floor when he noticed something odd. Natasha's leather jacket was balled up on top of… He was suddenly very, very awake. Forcing his breathing under control, he walked with carefully measured steps back to the doorway of the bedroom, where he stopped.

"Natasha. Are you naked?"

"Hm?"

"Your clothes are in a pile on the couch. Are. You. Naked?"

Her face appeared over the edge of the comforter. She blinked at him a few times. "I told you I was cold. I stole some of your sweats to use as pajamas."

He felt his heart rate decrease considerably. "Oh. Why didn't you just turn the heat up?"

"Didn't know if you're one of those people who freaks out about other people touching your thermostat."

"People do that?"

"I don't know. Either come back to bed or go away. I'm tired." She disappeared again under the covers.

Not willing to be kicked out of his own bedroom, he settled onto his back. After a few moments, he pulled at a corner of the comforter, succeeding in obtaining only a small triangle that would be great for keeping his wrist warm. He tugged harder. "C'mon, Nat. Share."

She huffed loudly, but started the complicated process of disentangling herself from his covers. He caught a few flashes of Army green; at least she hadn't been lying about wearing his clothes. "If you insist on stealing my blankets…"

"_My_ blankets," he corrected, pulling an adequate amount of said covers over his body.

"…then you have to make up for it."

He skipped 'why,' assuming he wouldn't like the answer, and moved straight to, "How?"

There was suddenly a rush of warmth against his side and a hand snaking across his chest. "Shared body heat."

"Natasha…"

"Relax, Rogers. I'll keep my hands above the belt."

"What was wrong with keeping them on the other side of the bed?"

"Captain America can't handle a little snuggle?" She was molding herself against him, nuzzling into his shoulder. "Mmm, you are so nice and toasty."

This was just getting weird. "Did you really just describe me as 'toasty'?"

She hummed happily and gave him a brief squeeze, but didn't reply. He decided there were definitely worse positions to be stuck in. He focused on his breathing, inhaling slowly and deeply and exhaling completely. He was nearing the edges of sleep when all his efforts went for naught. "What's so terrible about a naked woman in your bed?"

"There wasn't one."

"But you thought there was." She propped herself on her elbow and looked at him with a wicked gleam in her eyes. "I could hear your heart hammering from across the room." Her fingers played with the fabric of his t-shirt on his chest. "Hm, there it goes again."

Halfway through a forced deep breath, something in Steve's brain short-circuited. He couldn't be sure who was more surprised that Natasha was now pinned beneath his body, hands pressed into the mattress by his. There was a slightly wild look in her eyes now, like a cornered animal. He made his voice as gentle as possible without diminishing his determination. "This stops now."

"What, exactly?" Her voice was higher, bordering on… fear?

Coming back to himself fully, he rolled away from her, ashamed that he had been so rough with her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I…" He stood and began to pace the room. "Did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine." She was sitting up, leaning against the headboard with her knees drawn up. "Okay, you've got my attention. Say your piece."

"Natasha, I shouldn't have…"

"You have one minute before I stop being willing to listen and start hitting. Use it."

He stopped pacing and met her eyes. "I don't like being jerked around and I don't like being used. I want to know what you want from me."

"What do _you_…?"

"Don't turn this into some kind of game. We kissed. I _felt_ something. And I'm man enough to admit that, yeah, I'm interested. But if all you want is…is…a schmuck you can tease and keep around for fun, I can't be like that. And I'm not judging you for being who you are, I just…I need you to understand and respect that…that…" He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, struggling to find the right words.

"You're the gentleman and I'm the whore."

"No! No, I would never…"

"Don't worry about it, Steve. There's a reason everybody knows who Mata Hari was. And I know what I am." She threw off the covers and stood from the bed, looking even smaller that she usually did in his borrowed sweatshirt and pants. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable."

"Natasha, you…"

She walked over to the window, facing away from him. "I should get dressed and go before this weather gets worse. And I'll talk to Fury. I'm sure he could assign you to STRIKE or at least some other…"

How had this gone so wrong so fast? Hadn't they been cuddling a few minutes before? He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'm not losing my partner like this." He moved behind her and gently rested his hands on her shoulders. She resisted when he tried to turn her to face him so he didn't force the issue. "You are the most interesting, amazing, confusing person I've ever met."

"That just means I'm doing my job."

"Not the job, Nat. _You_. You don't give yourself enough credit."

"You have to get out of debt before you start earning credit."

He bent his head and allowed his lips to brush against her hair. "Please. Can we…maybe try getting to know each other? Not Captain American and Black Widow, but just us. Just two people who may…"

She gave a derisive snort and pulled away from him. "You wouldn't like the real me, assuming something so…" Her lip curled in a sneer that abruptly turned to a shiver that visibly ran through her body. "Real is relative. I get the feeling you're looking for consistency. Stop wasting time and start looking in another direction."

The apparent rejection hurt, but it seemed minor in comparison to the waves of emotion he could feel her suppressing. She turned away as he tried to stroke her cheek. "I trust you. I have since…practically since we met."

"So you're a poor judge of character. It happens."

"I don't think so. What are you so scared of?"

"I am _not_ scared."

"Then let me take you to dinner. I'll wear a tie and you'll wear a dress. We'll talk about stuff that isn't about work. And at the end of the night I'll walk you to your door and maybe get a kiss."

"Are you actually asking me on a date?"

"Yes. A real date. I'm pretty sure that's the proper way to, um, start. Something."

"And you're sure you want to start something?"

"Please, Nat. You can say yes or you can say no, but don't make me beg."

She regarded him analytically and he wondered if she was trying to stare him into confessing an ulterior motive – even worse, if she'd ever been asked out by someone _without_ an ulterior motive. He tried not to fidget as she continued to look at him. Then her eyes softened. "Okay."

He wanted to sweep her into his arms, but settled for what he hoped wasn't a doofy grin. "Great. Um…you busy tomorrow night?"

"Not as far as I know."

"I'll pick you up at six?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "On your bike? With me in a dress?"

"Oh, right." He grinned sheepishly at the snow outside. "Guess you should drive. That's modern, right?"

"Baby steps, Rogers."

* * *

><p>Natasha didn't bother to lock the bathroom door as she kicked it shut behind her. Steve wasn't the type to come barging in. Dropping her pile of yesterday's clothes on the counter, she slipped out of her borrowed clothes and moved to the mirror. She was used to her reflection – it was hard not to be when she spent so much time determining which facets to present in a given situation. She was armed with an arsenal of expressions, gestures and subtle cues that could be almost as useful as weapons. Hell, with enough concentration she could dilate and constrict her pupils at will – really made it hard for interrogators to get a good read. So why did she have the uncomfortable feeling that she had missed something, something Steve, of all people, could see?<p>

She locked eyes with her reflection and instantly remembered why she never looked so hard. _He's inventing something he _wants_ to see. He probably doesn't realize it's all in his head. There's nothing here to make a man like that – _that man – _that stupidly perfect man interested._ Her reflection smirked cruelly at her. _Damaged goods, Natalia. And Captain America thinks he'll ride in on a glimmering steed to fix you. How long until he shrinks back from the irreparable? Finds out exactly how many pieces are missing. Pathetic. Selfish. Just your MO._

She gasped and blinked hard, straining to halt her fist's impact with the mirror. She cautiously opened her eyes and found it was again safe to look. She just had to remember not to stare. Turning, she crossed her arms and leaned against the basin. It had been quite some time since she'd allowed herself a deeper glance. During her initial time at SHIELD it had been near constant, resulting in trails of broken glass and bleeding or bruised knuckles. She had gradually reasserted her control, bringing herself to a point where she could reconcile her previous life with her new one with a minimum of brain-twisting paradox. She'd always found it strange how she could be perfectly self-possessed in her mind only to turn helpless before a mirror.

She jumped at a knock on the door, feeling both annoyed with the reaction and grateful no one had been there to see it. "Natasha? Are you okay?"

"Fine."

"If…if you want a shower or something…I can leave some fresh towels by the door."

"No, I…" She rushed to pull on her t-shirt and jeans, stuffing her bra into her pocket. She grabbed Steve's sweatshirt and pants and yanked open the door. "I'll just toss these in your hamper and go."

He followed close on her heels as she stalked rapidly from the laundry basket in the bedroom to the living room for her jacket and boots. "Nat, don't feel like you have to run off. I made coffee. We can…talk some more."

"I…I don't think that's a great idea right now."

"Oh."

She cupped his cheek and rose to peck his lips. "Tomorrow, Steve. We have dinner plans, remember?"

He smiled through his hangdog expression. It was almost enough to make her stay.

Instead she was skidding down the sidewalk at a run, not stopping to breathe until her car provided a suitable barrier to stop her careening flight. She didn't bother to clean the snow off, pulling open the door and closing herself into the tomb-like interior. She hit the ignition and wipers simultaneously, clearing a small porthole in the windshield as she pulled into the street without looking. Luckily, the snow and early hour seemed to be keeping most people in. And speeding through snow-covered city streets was at least a _fun_ uncontrolled experience.


	4. A Whiter Shade of Pale

Following a quick breakfast and a shower, Natasha was sufficiently apprehensive about her dinner plans with Steve to need an escape from her own apartment. He wanted her to wear a dress. A goddamn _dress._ She did _not_ need to spend the day debating which from her considerable wardrobe he might like best. She wasn't a particularly enthusiastic shopper, but she'd gotten into the habit of keeping clothes she liked from various ops, which tended to be provided by SHIELD only when haute couture was required. No one had ever said anything, so she assumed it was kosher. It wasn't as if there were many – or any – other agents that could use clothes specifically tailored for her. They could take it out of her hazard pay if really necessary. She would need to know the restaurant before picking her ensemble, anyway, and that would require a call to Steve. Damn it. Why had she agreed to a date? What was wrong with her usual take-out/break-in routine?

She knew the answer already. This was not going to be routine. No wonder she felt so off her game. She threw on a sweater and a pair of cargo pants before heading out into the snow.

When she realized running mundane errands in the half-closed, blizzard-jammed city wasn't going to be enough of a distraction, she decided to take a nearly unprecedented step.

Her office at the Triskelion, a windowless box she nominally shared with Barton, was smaller and dustier than she remembered. It was a glorified broom closet on one of the higher security levels, assigned as a result of some obscure regulation that field agents have a place to complete reports on premises. It contained only a single desk, phone and outdated computer. She could recall being here only a few times, most of which had involved needing a quiet place where no one would think to look for her to nap between closely scheduled missions. The one thing the place had going for it was a comfortable chair.

She had just settled into it and started poking through the desk drawers when the phone started to ring. She turned to it slowly with a suspicious look. She checked her cell just to make sure she wasn't imagining things. On the fourth ring she picked up the receiver warily. "Hello?"

"Didn't I give you the day off?"

"Just catching up on paperwork, Director." She dropped the few ancient memos back into the bottom drawer on top of a handful of spent shell casings, so it wasn't technically a lie. "What can I do for you?"

"Need you in my office, Romanoff."

"I'll be right up."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I just…I'm not sure I've ever used this phone before."

"You and Barton use that office so seldom that I had it flagged as a security risk. Alert pops up on my desk if anyone accesses it. Relax. It took me a few minutes to find the extension. I do need you up here, though."

"On my way." She grabbed her things and pulled the office door shut for the next few months.

She smiled as the elevator door opened. "Morning, Hill."

"Romanoff. Didn't expect you in today."

"It wasn't planned, but I got bored and there's no shooting range near my apartment." Hill didn't react, but the man in a suit standing behind them got off at the next floor. Natasha cocked her head and kept her tone casual, "Did we lose a recruit yet?"

"We lost three, all female, all almost immediately following their training session yesterday. Two came to me directly, the third I had to visit in the infirmary. I had to stop her from signing her releases or the stitches the PA gave her wouldn't have been legal."

"I thought I demonstrated admirable restraint."

"Physically, anyway, according to statements."

Natasha groaned. Statements meant paperwork. She had enough of that already, even if Steve could be counted on to provide all the necessary details for their mission reports. "Is this going to turn into a _thing_?"

"Our non-disclosure agreements make lawsuits superfluous, so no. I just wish you'd be a little less enthusiastic about the weeding-out process."

"All I did was shower." It was quiet for a moment, but Natasha's curiosity was piqued. "Clark didn't quit, did she?"

"Clark? No, though she wasn't happy to have her name included in the incident report."

"Then I was right about her. Does she have the scores for field ops training?" The elevator doors opened, but Hill didn't move. Natasha turned back to her on the threshold. "What?"

"Are you voluntarily giving a recommendation?"

"Just letting you know who to keep an eye on. Potentially."

"Yeah, well it's early in their program."

"Just trying to be helpful."

"That's what's freaking me out. You did turn down Iron Man for the Avengers, remember?"

"I actually turned down Stark. Iron Man has his uses."

Hill shook her head as she finally stepped out of the elevator and started down the hallway to her own office. "If you really want to be helpful, buy me a new bottle of conditioner."

"Check your locker," Natasha sing-songed as she reached Fury's door. She reverted to her a more professional persona as she stepped inside without knocking. "Director. I see you've had the couch cleaned."

"I'd be annoyed about that if I didn't need you in Prague in nine hours."

She did a quick calculation in her head. "I need to be there at eight tonight?"

"Gallery opening at nine. Anything you need will be at the hotel when you arrive. Hill said something about you liking something called Louboutin Dior, so I let her handle the details."

She clenched her jaw at Fury's pronunciation and hoped Hill wasn't harboring a grudge regarding shoes or gowns. "And my target?"

"Czech art patron with extracurricular interests in gun-running. Details are in the packet on the jet. I suggest you get going."

Several hours later she checked herself over and decided Hill had better taste than she had given her credit for. She snapped a selfie on her phone and sent a quick, cryptic message to Steve, _Wish you were here._ At least she could put off selecting an outfit for their date for the time being. Or if the mission went well, she could just bring it home and possibly make their dinner.

* * *

><p>Steve held up his phone, gazing at the photo Natasha had sent him unexpectedly three days before. At the time, he assumed she was teasing him with a preview of what she was planning to wear on their date. He hadn't even realized anything was wrong until Fury had given instructions for him to report directly to the infirmary when he arrived at SHIELD with the intention of writing his report on the Amazon mission. That was going to be on the back burner for a while.<p>

He lowered his phone and leaned toward Natasha's supine form on the hospital bed in front of him. He twined his fingers with her right hand, being careful not to disturb her IV lines and whispered, "I should have been with you."

He was still angry that he hadn't been. Fury had grudgingly briefed him when he had torn himself away from her side to demand an explanation for her condition, telling him that the mission had come up suddenly and the target had been deeper into the arms market than their intelligence had suggested. Also, that Natasha had done a lot more damage to the bad guys than she'd taken herself, but it didn't change the fact that she was still unconscious in the infirmary today. None of it seemed to justify sending her alone.

He sighed and ran his thumb over her slightly darkened knuckles. "I may have passed out if you'd shown up at my door in that dress you were wearing in the picture you sent me. Amazing you didn't just knock everybody out walking through the door. You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" He didn't release his hold on her hand when a nurse entered to record her vital signs.

He repeated the same question he'd been asking every few hours since he had arrived, "Know when she'll wake up yet?"

"I'm sorry, Captain, but you'll have to speak to the doctor."

He didn't bother the nurse further, focusing his attention on Natasha. "You know, I'm gonna start watching movies by myself if you don't wake up soon. Imagine the disaster if I have to sort through seventy years of filmic history on my own. I could be watching anything." He wracked his brain for something. "Uh, _Xanadu_. Oh, _Plan Nine from Outer Space_. Stark and Banner both wanted me to watch that one, so I know something must be up."

He was still babbling about anything he could think of (pre-World War II baseball statistics), when she woke roughly two hours later. "Steve?"

"Nat…" He had the sudden urge to kiss her. He desperately wanted to assure her that everything was okay, but he held back. "How do you feel?"

"Awful." Her eyes drifted around the room. "Am I at SHIELD?"

"Yep. You've been out for almost two days."

"I was…I was in Prague."

"You were. Things apparently went a little sideways."

"Yeah." Her nose crinkled as she concentrated. "There was..I was trying to get an art dealer's attention. I think I bought a painting."

"You bought four. I think Fury decided to write them off as a mission expense. They're on the way to something called MOMA."

"New York. Haven't lost my eye for quality, I guess."

"Never." His eyes were drawn to the thick gauze wrapped around her forehead. "What else happened?"

"I…there was a warehouse. He wanted to show me more paintings, I think. Things were going well until someone recognized me. Someone…are they dead, Steve?"

"There were four bodies in the wreckage." He shook his head to clear the photos of the scene from his mind. "After they pulled you out, I mean."

"Good. I remember the…the art guy…and his two bodyguards and….and…Katkov. He was…between the eyes, right?"

"I don't have details. I just know there were three dead before the explosion that caused your concussion. Fourth from blast trauma. The triggering mechanism was melted into his hand."

"But I have nineteen round magazines. How could…?"

"I don't know if your clips were empty when the munitions blew. You…" He was vaguely aware that this was an abnormal topic of conversation with one's injured girlfriend, but…they hadn't really reached that point yet, had they? "Nat, you're lucky to be alive. It's okay if you didn't take out all the bad guys personally."

"Should've. I was…running. The art dealer was dumb enough to flash the trigger before he pushed it. It…I should've aimed for _that_ first."

"You should have been having dinner with me at a nice restaurant, not seducing arms dealers in Europe." He was unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

"Mngh. No seduction required. You could've gotten to their cache."

"Then Fury should have sent me. Or sent me with you. Why did he make us partners if he's going to do stuff like this? And who was this Katkov guy?"

"Just someone. Someone from before." She took a few heavy breaths. "Well, I'm awake. Can I go home?"

"You know I'll take you home with me if the docs approve."

"Like I want you driving my car."

"I'm a good driver."

"Steve…" He felt her grip tighten for a moment before loosening.

"Nat? Natasha?"

He sank back onto his stool with her limp hand in his. He was able to carry her to the garage with a minimum of complaint (though while unfortunately drawing a maximum amount of attention) a day later when she had bullied her discharge out of a reluctant doctor. He was surprised when she held his neck as he set her in the passenger seat of her car. "Are you taking me home?"

"Shh." He kissed her forehead. "You'll be home soon."


	5. My Antonia

"Mmm…Steve..."

Steve rolled over in his bed, waking from his light sleep. "You need something, Nat?"

She moaned low in her throat and he immediately moved to spoon her, wrapping an arm around her midsection. He'd convinced her that she should stay with him until she had completely recovered from her Prague mission. He still wasn't sure if the fact that she hadn't fought him on it was something worrying or promising. One thing he had discovered for sure over the past week was that he could help her through her recurrent nightmares of the mission if not completely prevent them with comforting physical contact.

He stroked her hair gently as she moaned again. "It's okay, Nat. I've got you. Nothing bad can happen to you here."

She started to squirm against him. "Steve…oh! _Steve_!"

"I'm here. I'm right here with you." He reached out to turn on the lamp on her nightstand. "Wake up for me, Natasha."

She suddenly struggled around to face him, drawing her leg over his waist. He could feel her lips working against his chest through his thin t-shirt, her nails digging into his shoulders. Wait. His breath hitched in his throat. Okay. She was definitely not having a nightmare. Soft gasps and moans accompanied the rhythmic roll of her hips against him.

"Natasha!"

Her eyes snapped open and he hoped he wasn't meeting them with too much shock. "Oh." She slid her leg off him and scooted back toward her side of the bed. "Well…this isn't a five star hotel."

"I…I thought you were having another nightmare, so I was trying to, y'know, but you…er…" He was very glad that the rest of his reaction was hidden beneath a thick comforter. He turned slightly more to his side, just in case. "I was just trying to help."

She watched him for a long moment. "I know I've been having quite a few over the past week, but I don't just have nightmares. Sometimes I have…nice dreams."

He yanked his hand back from where it had been resting on her hip. "Uh, _nice_ dreams? About me?"

"Well, not _always_ you, but, yes. My unconscious does seem quite fond of certain scenarios." She pushed the long sleeves of his Army sweatshirt, soon to likely be conceded as her sweatshirt, up past her wrists and settled back under the covers. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light as she grinned coyly. "You can't tell me you don't ever have…dreams."

"I…" The truth was he was plagued with not only dreams but near constant thoughts about her, many of which were not suitable for discussion in polite company. Maybe plagued was too strong a word. He'd certainly had some memorable moments in the privacy of his shower or alone in his bedroom. Granted, fantasies couldn't compete with the real thing, but the trouble was he could feel the color rising in his cheeks as the real thing continued to watch him. "Um…"

"You're awfully shy for a guy who helped me take a bath a few days ago."

"That was completely different." True, she had been naked and he had had his hands on her, but it had been almost impossible to view her sexually at the time, too sore and bruised to take off her own clothes or wash her own hair. Thinking back, he could still feel the stitches on her scalp under his fingertips, her soft skin slick with soap he had been reluctant to guide over deep purple discolorations. She had been healing every day since, no longer requiring such hands-on care, but it concerned him more than he cared to admit just knowing how fragile she had felt in his arms. "You needed my help so I helped you."

"Still, it was intimate. It was…nice."

He furrowed his brow. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem…different."

"Maybe getting hit in the head knocked a little sense into me. You've been so sweet over the past few days and I…I haven't felt strong enough not to like it."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"You're pretty hard to resist, Steve." She was slinking closer, fingertips caressing his neck. "And maybe I'm tired of trying."

He could feel her warm breath against his face as he rested his forehead against hers. His self-control could only bear so much. "Please don't do this, Natasha. Not until you're medically cleared and not until you're sure. I would never forgive myself if we…if I took advantage of you."

She sighed. "You are completely impossible." She rolled and switched off the lamp. He was just getting used to the darkness when she said, "Will you at least hold me until I fall back to sleep?"

He took a deep breath to prepare himself for renewed proximity. "I can do that." They lay in the quiet bedroom until a question that had been bubbling in the back of his mind for the past week broke the surface. "Why…who was that Katkov guy you were so concerned about?"

He felt her tense in his arms. "I told you. Just someone who recognized me. Someone I wasn't expecting to see again. It's not important."

"Seemed important when you mentioned it."

"Steve, if we…if you want to do this, you're going to have to accept that…if you really knew me, you wouldn't be like this. You would be running in the opposite direction as fast as you could. And I know how fast you can run."

"I know who you are, Nat. You are…you…" He gave up on words that wouldn't come. "Whoever you were…that's over."

"I thought so, but…Prague won't be an isolated incident. There are going to be times my past comes up. I can't involve you in…"

"I'm already involved." He buried his face in her hair and inhaled. "Mmm. Anyone who wants to get to you will have to go through me."

"Steve, that's not…

"No. It's non-negotiable. I can't hold you like this one night and throw you to the wolves the next."

"Wolves." Her body unexpectedly relaxed, but her voice took on an odd, faraway quality as she said, "There's an old story. It's a Russian wedding, lots of guests, plenty to drink. The feast at the bride's parents' home lasts until late at night and it's finally time for the guests to leave. They get into horse-drawn sleighs and start on their journey back to town. They can hear wolves, but they don't worry at first. Then the last sleigh veers off the road. The people are attacked by the wolves. The screams echo. Everyone starts to get scared. There's another accident, same result. Everyone is screaming now – victims, survivors, horses. One by one, the sleighs are overtaken by wolves. Finally, it's just the first sleigh, the one with the bride and groom. The wolves are still chasing them. They need to lighten the sleigh. Do you understand, Steve?"

"I would never…"

"I know. I'm trying to tell you that I would do what needed to be done."

He heart clenched up. "You would…"

"Jump. Captain America is not expendable."

Somehow, that hurt even more. "I would never let you sacrifice yourself for me."

"Not sacrifice, no; I can't imagine anything I ever do could be considered holy. But _you_ would try to save me. You would sacrifice everything and it would mean something. Can't you understand why that means we can never…there's nothing more for us. We have to let it go." She pushed his arms away and slipped from under the covers.

He tried to shake off the cobwebs of sleep and the confusion of her abrupt reversal. "I don't…don't do that." She ignored him and continued exchange her pajamas for street clothes in the darkness. He felt unmoored, adrift. A week of closeness, lowered walls, only to end with a predawn…end? He couldn't accept it; he wouldn't. He sat up in bed and asked, "How does the story end?"

"Hm?" Her hand was already on the doorknob.

"The story – did the groom throw his bride to the wolves or did she jump?"

"Oh, they were both thrown out by the driver, trying to save himself. He survives, but gets thrown out of his village, immigrates to America. It's actually from a novel by Willa Cather. I'm not even sure it has a Russian source."

"You got me all worked up over _that_?"

"I was making a point."

"Yeah, a few minutes ago you were telling me I was irresistible and asking me to hold you and now you're saying we can never be together and leaving. This is exhausting."

"And we're not even in a relationship. See all the trouble you're saving yourself?"

"But I never said…"

"I thought I made it clear, Steve. I'm making the decision you won't. Dreams are nice, but that's all they are. Thank you for reminding me of that."

"You're turning on a dime about me because I brought up that Katkov guy?"

"No. It's…it's because you always do the right thing. Maybe that rubbed off on me a little." She paused in silhouette in the doorframe. "Thank you for the past few days, Steve. It's been nice to feel…"

"It doesn't have to end."

"Everything ends."

He hated himself for letting her leave, but imagined that he would hate himself more if he had forced her to stay. He flopped back onto the bed. It was hard to sleep without her beside him.


	6. The Show Must Go On

Steve disregarded the stares he knew he was getting and focused on the punching bag; people watching him workout was nothing new. So what if he wasn't holding back at all today? His tape-wrapped fists sank deeper with every blow. His increased aggression had nothing to do with the fact that Natasha was on a treadmill across the room, proving she had fully recovered from her injuries from three weeks earlier – not intentionally and certainly not to him, but it was hard not to notice her and harder to ignore her. Damn, had it really been three weeks since she'd shown up in the infirmary after a mission, then two weeks since she'd had a conversation with him about anything unrelated to SHIELD business? It certainly hurt like it had just happened. How was he supposed to just turn off his emotions, freeze up his heart and get on with business as usual?

She finished her run and walked past him without looking. He redoubled his efforts against the bag, pummeling his desire and pain and anger into a concentrated area of…

A group of people stretching on the mats scattered as the bag landed in their midst. "Sorry," he muttered, rushing over to collect the destroyed bag. Stark would probably enjoy the challenge of once again producing a punching bag that could stand up to Steve's repeated assaults. For the time being, he exchanged the ruined one for a fresh one in the equipment closet. He hung it, but didn't stay to mete out any more punishment on inanimate objects.

He was unwrapping his throbbing hands in front of his locker when he was surprised by a man rounding the corner with a towel around his waist. "Hey, Cap."

"Barton." He held out his hand and shook the archer's in greeting. "Haven't seen you around lately."

"Long-term mission. There should be a rule about leaving a guy hanging for more than three months without so much as an XBOX."

"Did you at least…?"

"Got it done and then some, yeah, but it doesn't change the fact that I was bored as hell most of the time." Barton opened his own locker, causing several quivers of arrows to spill across the floor. He didn't seem to mind. "You, on the other hand…I hear you've been busy."

"Fury's been sending me out a lot or going to a lot of meetings here. I think he's just getting me used to the work more than anything else."

"Oh, sure, that. I doubt anyone's worried you're not up to the job. I was actually referring to…you and Tash, huh? Can't say I expected it, but, eh, I've seen stranger things."

Steve kicked his sneakers into his locker with more violence than necessary. "Well, don't expect to see anything between Natasha and I."

"Nope. Discretion. I get it. My lips are sealed, even under interrogation."

"I actually meant that she isn't particularly interested in me at the moment."

"I know I haven't been around to observe firsthand, but, uh…" Barton raised an eyebrow. "She let you carry her out of the building, Rogers."

"She was injured."

"Sure. Because they would have discharged her if she was too hurt to walk out under her own power."

Steve felt a burning in his chest that had nothing to do with his recent workout. "That…it's not like she was dying or something, but…how do you even know about that?"

"Some of the ops techs put together a supercut of the security footage set to the Titanic song." Barton shrugged into a t-shirt. "Surprisingly cute. I'm assuming Tash hasn't seen it because the techs are still alive, but…hey, good for you guys."

"It's not like that." He dropped onto the bench behind him and rested his elbows on his knees. "She hasn't talked to me in over a week, which is impressive because we delivered a threat assessment together yesterday and we've been in a bunch of other meetings and stuff."

"You want me to talk to her?"

"About us? Uh, I mean me. And no. Thanks, but no. She's made it pretty clear we're colleagues. Probably not even ones who like each other. I…" Something that had been preying on his mind for some time suddenly seemed like it couldn't wait any longer. "Barton, can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"Did you and Natasha…were you guys, I mean, did you ever…?"

Barton laughed. "I get that one a lot, mostly since no one would be dumb enough to ask _her_. Since it's you, I'm gonna give an honest answer. No. It's never been more than friendship between me and Tasha. Not that I haven't thought about it. Hell, there's probably not a straight guy in this building who hasn't thought about it, but we've all got pretty strong self-preservation instincts."

"Mm hmm."

"If you don't mind me asking, what flipped the track from Celine to Cee-Lo?"

"Uh…"

A familiar voice suddenly echoed through the locker room, "You better be out here to buy me lunch in five minutes, asshole!"

Barton grinned; Steve bit back his jealousy. Shoving the arrows and quivers back into his locker, he gave Steve a pat on the shoulder. "Hey, if you, uh, need to, uh, talk…y'know, about Tash, I…well, I'm not sure I'll be around, but if I am…"

"Yeah. I'll keep it in mind, Barton. Thanks." After another few moments of quiet consideration, he stripped and made his way to the showers. At least he was going to the Pentagon with Fury for a meeting this afternoon, which would hopefully provide a welcome distraction without leaving his muscles so sore.

* * *

><p>Natasha stood outside the men's locker room, tapping her foot against the marble floor impatiently. She felt uncomfortably exposed in her black tailored suit and heels, which was only magnified by the barely surreptitious glances she was drawing from everyone walking past. She was on the point of showing a pair of particularly obvious gawkers exactly how many knives one could easily conceal under a pencil skirt when Clint emerged from the door on her left. "Hey. What's with the monkey suit?"<p>

She ignored the question entirely, planting her hands on her hips. "Where the hell have you been for three months?"

He shrugged. "You know I'd tell you if I could, if only to avoid the inevitable kick in the nads."

"Don't tempt me." She eyed him for a moment. "You were obviously somewhere with good food. You look fat."

She took off down the hallway, taking much shorter, louder strides than normal due to her outfit. Clint caught her easily. "Ouch. Why so pissy? Can you only hide one gun on you in that?"

She brushed his hand away from the holster in the small of her back. "I'm annoyed with you for disappearing."

"Sure this is about me and not the star-spangled man with a plan?"

"Don't start with that," she snapped, rather than demanding, 'Was he in the locker room? Did he ask you about me?' She felt ridiculous for even thinking that way, like some kind of lovesick girl who refused to admit she wanted to know if Steve missed her company as much as she missed his. And she did, if the dull ache in her chest was indeed psychosomatic and not a tumor or something. The entire situation was becoming untenable; she hated that she didn't have the guts to just handle it. Her, the goddamned Black Widow! She hooked a sharp left into the SHIELD staff cafeteria, noting with grim satisfaction that the people waiting in line all suddenly seemed to remember important places they had to be elsewhere in the building. She grabbed a tray and started inspecting the daily offering. She gave Clint a sidelong glance to make sure he hadn't picked up on her inner confusion. "Your gossip is outdated, anyway."

"So he didn't walk out of here carrying you in his enviably muscular arms a couple of weeks ago?"

"That was not what it looked like."

"It looked pretty damn adorable. You all curled up in a little ball and…"

"Please." She scowled and grabbed a premade salad as if it had personally offended her, wanting to hate how good it had felt to be in Steve's arms. "_My Heart Will Go On_? It's enough to send us all into hyperglycemic shock."

"I wouldn't say it was _that_…" Clint paused and the first scoop of lumpy casserole missed the plate he had been in the act of extending. "Wait, you know about that?"

"Why wouldn't I? I've been here for the past few weeks, haven't I?"

"Well, yeah, but those responsible are suspiciously unmaimed."

She took a moment to clear her mind of all thought, then moved down the line, deciding that a salad qualified her for two pieces of cherry pie. She added a bottle of water to her tray and waited while Clint inspected each brownie individually. They were walking to the cashier when she finally broke, saying, "It's just a stupid video. Killing anybody over it would imply I gave a damn."

"Whoa."

"What? You leave your wallet in your other quiver?"

"Huh? No." He paid for their lunches and followed her to a conveniently secluded table in the corner. She was squeezing a packet of ranch onto the disappointingly wilted leaves of her salad when he said, "Y'know, I don't think I've ever seen you care about something so much that you made a point of showing everybody how much you don't care."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Tash, I once saw you grab a pigeon out of the air and smash it on the ground because it pooped on your boot."

She frowned. "Not one of my prouder moments."

"Whatever, I'm just saying that you're not exactly one to let things slide. You're making a bigger statement by ignoring it than doing something about it."

She chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Then let them go on thinking I just don't know about it."

He smirked. "The best spy at SHIELD doesn't know what people are saying about her behind her back? Yeah, that makes this whole thing roll over in your favor."

"At least you can finally admit I'm the best." She recovered the mostly full salad container, opting for a little victory pie.

"That's not what I…I didn't mean…"

She batted her eyes at him. "Aw, is little Clint going to cry?"

"I just got back from a three-month mission…"

"During which you neglected to call or text even once to let me know you weren't dead."

"…and I just bought you lunch. You could at least give it a day before the claws come out."

"Whatever, Barton." She checked her phone as it vibrated a reminder. "Here, eat my other piece of pie. I'm gonna be late."

"Big meeting?"

"Pentagon. They have a standing order not to let me into the building if I'm wearing a catsuit."

"Why? You can take the girl out of the arsenal, but you can't take the arsenal out of the girl." He started on the pie as she stood and buttoned her jacket. "I'll stop by with dinner tonight?"

"Wouldn't expect anything less after this lunch."

"Hey, you're the one who…"

"Gotta go." She managed a fair jog in her heels down to the garage, carefully convincing herself that she was not particularly bothered by her conversation with Clint. She could always punch her unwillingness to discuss the topic into him after dinner anyway.

* * *

><p>Steve sat stiffly in the rearmost seat of the large black SUV, fighting the urge to pull at his tie. For all his occasional annoyances with the Captain America uniform, he would rather be wearing that than the new suit he'd been instructed to wear today; it would probably be a hit at the Pentagon. He didn't suggest it to Fury, who was idly scanning a tablet in the seat directly in front of him.<p>

After five further minutes of silence, Steve was beginning to lose patience. He hadn't been told anything about the meeting beyond its location and potential relevance to an as-yet unplanned future mission. "Director, are we waiting for Agent Hill? Because we're going to be late if…" He trailed off as he looked out the window. Natasha was striding toward them, appearing for all the world like she was VIP of this trip. It was just unfair for her to walk around looking like that. Steve inhaled sharply and tugged the knot of his tie as she nodded curtly to the driver as he opened the door for her and she took a seat beside Fury.

Fury didn't give any indication that he noticed Steve's reaction. "Fashionably late, Agent Romanoff?"

"Barton just got back and we were," she paused for what was probably a barely perceptible moment, but it was the first time their eyes had met in days and he clung to it, "catching up over lunch. I wasn't aware you were coming, Captain Rogers."

"Not exactly sure why I'm here either, ma'am."

"You're here for the experience, Rogers." Fury finally looked up as they drove out of the Triskelion's underground garage. "She's here because I like to make the Joint Chiefs nervous. Keeps them honest. Or less dishonest, at least."

Natasha gave a single snort of laughter. "Says the man in the black trench coat."

"The last time you wore that damn catsuit to one of these meetings the Secretary of the Navy nearly had a heart attack."

"So? We've got a new SecNav now."

"Just behave yourself. Depending on how this goes, you and Rogers might be going out again soon."

"Now, when you say 'behave,' Director…"

"I mean that if I hear another story about somebody dropping out of the ceiling to steal double espressos at the Starbucks, you're gonna be running strategy meetings for the next year."

Although she wasn't looking at him, Steve could just barely see her smirk in the reflection of the window. "I paid for those."

"I don't care if you left a damn twenty percent tip! Stick to messing with the people I bring you to mess with."

In spite of himself, Steve felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was nice to be near Natasha when she was in a good mood, even if she was still ignoring him. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her casual tone of voice, her subtle perfume. He flexed his fingers, wishing he could run them through her hair as she brushed a lock behind her ear and turned her attention to her own tablet. He cleared his throat politely. "Director, is there something I should be reading over before this briefing?"

"Just prepare to shake a lot of hands and maybe sign some autographs for some starstruck personnel in the hallways. Then keep your eyes and ears open. If this meeting pans out the way I hope it will, we'll be talking back at SHIELD later."

"Sir, could I at least get an idea about…"

Fury turned with an inscrutable look. "Rogers, the Joint Chiefs don't know we know why we're coming."

"But I really don't know."

"Yes, because I haven't seen enough of your acting skills yet to trust you can pull off believably pretending not to be surprised. It'll work better if you actually have to pretend not to be surprised."

Steve contorted his features, trying to figure out what he was being asked to do.

"That's a good start. I know we haven't used you for any undercover work yet, but we may need to at some point in the future. Consider this a training exercise."

He frowned. "Does that mean Agent Romanoff _has_ been briefed about this meeting?"

"Agent Romanoff has a bad habit of getting into files she shouldn't." Fury looked both annoyed and smug about this fact. "I'm hoping our new batch of programmers will make a few changes to prevent that."

Natasha didn't look up from her tablet. "You know I like to be prepared, Director."

"Hmph."

Had they been on speaking terms, Steve may have considered a gentle taunt about her being the teacher's pet, but he settled for gazing out the window at the passing scenery. After a few minutes, he grew tired of the DC gridlock and turned his head forward. He couldn't be sure how long Natasha had been watching him, but he had the feeling it had been more than just a few moments. And she wasn't looking away now. He set his jaw and tried to convey a challenge with his eyes. She didn't blink. The change from cool assessment to something else was gradual and he watched in fascination as her gaze softened without losing any of its intensity. She finally broke the spell by speaking, "I don't think I've ever seen you in a tie, Rogers."

"I don't believe you've had the opportunity, no."

"It looks nice."

"Oh. Thank you."

She nodded and returned her attention to her apparently stolen files. He tried not to read too much into the fact that she waited for him to climb out of the back of the car when they arrived at the Pentagon.


	7. Because I Got High

Natasha had run out of ways to get more comfortable, having already taken off her jacket, shoes, pantyhose (discreetly) and holster. The latter had been sitting in front of her on the conference table for the past forty-five minutes, providing a constant source of temptation to force an end to the interminable planning meeting. She wasn't entirely sure why she needed to be here; logistics bored her. A simple briefing on the target and mission objectives with additional details prior to the drop was usually enough for her.

A light tap on the back of her hand changed her focus from her weapon to the man beside her. Since she had complimented his tie on the way to the Pentagon, she and Steve had fallen back into a comfortable rhythm, as if the past few weeks had never happened. She didn't know how or why it had happened, just that she liked it. And that she was ticked at herself for liking it, but not to the point where she wanted it to change. She hadn't been as intimidating to the Joint Chiefs as Fury had probably expected, but the gushing of a five-star general over a nonplussed Captain America had provided an adequate cover. They had left with both the official information and tacit approval to proceed in Myanmar as they saw fit.

She smiled at Steve in spite of herself as he continued to coax her away from her weapon with a series of taps on her knuckles. He was so palpably pleased with himself for being the one to sit beside her, both at the Pentagon and here, that it was difficult to be irritated with him. She thought he had started to tap out a Morse code message on her hand when her phone vibrated. She made the mistake of glancing at it.

_Where r u?_

Clint really did have the worst timing sometimes. _Meeting. Shut up._

She ignored the reply, turning her attention back toward the projection screen, ostensibly. She was really looking at Steve, with his jacket and tie off, sleeves rolled up, collar unbuttoned. God, if there were no one else in this room she would teach him a thing or two about daring to look so damn good in a suit…

"…Agent Romanoff? " She became aware that Fury was staring at her, along with the rest of the table. "Anything you'd like to add?"

"Hm? Oh, it's been a while since I've had anything to do with the opium trade…"

"Which is why Agent Simmons has spent the last half-hour discussing…"

"Yes, and it has been an excellent refresher. Thank you, Agent Simmons. I'm just eager to get on the ground and start working." She made a point of reaching for her .22 on the table.

"Naturally. Well, I think we can let Rogers, Romanoff and STRIKE out to prepare for the mission while we organize the final details. Be ready for the mission brief on the jet, people."

Natasha stood faster than strictly necessary to leave the conference room, almost forgetting to step back into her shoes. The Triskelion was quieter at night and she didn't feel as self-conscious as she had earlier in the day. Still, she was aware that Steve didn't make the turn into the men's locker room with the rest of STRIKE. She didn't turn to confront him until he had tailed her to the women's locker room. "Captain, is there something…?"

He held up her discarded hosiery awkwardly. "Thought you might want these back."

"Oh, thank you. Yes." She suddenly realized that he was holding them out for her to take. Their fingers brushed through the sheer material. "Don't think I've put a run in them yet."

"Didn't catch one on a knife when you were shimmying out of them?"

"Was it that obvious?"

"I, uh, was watching, uh, closely."

"Steve…"

"Sorry. It's hard not to look."

"I just meant…I don't mind."

"Oh. Good. I, uh, won't stop looking then."

"I should…I should be getting changed."

"Right. Me too." He remained where he was when she stepped away. "You look nice, too. The suit and heels and…"

"Thanks." She made her escape into the locker room without any further awkward smiles or glances, which was ridiculous, because she didn't do things awkwardly. Her self-assurance slowly rebuilt itself as she changed into her catsuit, storing her weapons in their proper, familiar places. Five minutes later, the Black Widow stretched out her fingers and ensured her Bites were fully charged. The crackling feedback of electricity set her nerves on their proper edge.

"Wow."

She didn't turn, aware that someone had been watching her since she'd pulled her boots on. "Aren't you here a little late, Clark?"

"No, I mean, I guess, but I was just getting in a little extra work on the training dummies and…I'm sorry, but this is so cool. I'm sure it's super unprofessional to gush and you probably have to leave, like, right now to go do stuff I can't even imagine, but…I mean, you're the Black Widow and you look just like those pictures from New York, but you're standing _right there_ and…couldIgetaphotowithyou?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow and Clark immediately backed away. "Oh my God, I am so, so sorry. That just sort of came out and I would never, never dare…I just wanted it…not like for Facebook or something, but…I'll just be going."

The rookie made an impressively quick retreat, so Natasha shrugged it off. Kid still had potential. She considered sprinting down to the hangar, but decided it was too early to start spiking her adrenalin levels. The flight to Myanmar would be long enough for a nap before she had to consider anything like that. Still, her heart rate picked up when she saw Steve standing at the rear ramp of the jet in his muted blue Captain America uniform, shield strapped to his back. "Ready to go, Cap?"

"Wheels up as soon as we're aboard."

She strapped into the seat beside him and dozed off on his shoulder some fifteen minutes later. She didn't wake until Steve squeezed her knee. "Hey, we're less than an hour out. Time to get prepped."

"Beauty sleep is over, boys." Rumlow was already up and checking over his gear, though the rest of STRIKE appeared to be in various stages of waking. "Everybody got what they need?"

"I could use a big stiff drink," Natasha replied, stretching her arms over her head.

"That the only big stiff thing you need, Romanoff?"

"Well, I wouldn't be coming to you for _that_, Rumlow." She added a fake smile to the end of her statement, more for Steve's benefit than anyone else's. His hand was on her back anyway as they clustered in front of the holoscreen displaying the map of their target zone. She felt possessed. Owned. Claimed. It was disturbingly comforting. She leaned into his touch as they watched the series of images pass, Rumlow filling in the details on each.

She forced herself not to frown when Steve removed his hand at the end of the briefing. "All right. Rumlow, take your team into the barn on the northeast side and clear out any hostiles. Natasha and I will hit the structure on the western end of the poppy fields. Intel collection is a priority. Rendezvous by the river two clicks east in sixty mikes for extraction. Questions?"

Rumlow nodded and banged his fist into the button for the ramp mechanism. "See you in an hour, Cap."

* * *

><p>"Steve?"<p>

"Yes, Natasha?"

"You know I don't normally contradict your orders in the field, right?"

He tried not to focus on her legs, currently clenched around his ribcage. "I don't think this is really the time to…"

"I only mention it because I don't think this cable is designed to hold much beyond my weight."

"Yeah." He closed his eyes to block out the abyss beneath them and the slender wire connected to Natasha's wrist above them. "Got it."

"I'm really just suggesting that if you have a plan, now would be an excellent time to share."

"That ledge over there might…okay." He held his breath as he felt her twist her body, causing them both to swing. On the second pass, he felt the grip of her legs loosen and lunged as best he could toward the rocky ledge. The wind rushed from his lungs as he hit the wall of the canyon. "Okay," he repeated. He looked back and realized he could no longer see his partner. "Nat?"

"Move!" She was suddenly penduluming toward him out of the darkness. He managed to step back and catch her in the same motion, holding on as her grappling hook snagged for a moment.

"Gotcha."

She didn't pull away from him, though it was likely due to their precarious position. "Any chance they think we died jumping off the cliff?"

He held his shield over both their heads as a rain of bullets pinged off it. "It would appear not."

"Fantastic. So, we either stay here until your arm gets tired or we hope the river is deep enough for Olympic diving at this particular spot."

"Third option?"

"All you, Cap."

"I think there's a cave at the end of this ledge."

"Oh, great. I love tight, indefensible spaces."

"My arm is…"

He felt her fingers clench his free forearm. "Cave it is. Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll run out of bullets before they figure it out, right?"

The cave was deeper than he had expected. Much, much deeper. Half an hour later they were still descending through the narrow, rocky passage and had definitely missed the extraction. The fact that they were holding hands in the darkness contributed nothing to Steve's eerie sense of calm. He ran into Natasha, who had stopped abruptly. The scent of her hair in the dank cave was intoxicating. She turned her head and he obliged her with a nuzzle against her ear.

"Not now. Hear that? I think we may be at the level of the river."

He concentrated on something other than the sound of the blood rushing through his body. "Left?"

"We really should have packed flashlights."

"We did. They're in the packs we dropped while being fired on with automatic weapons."

"Good thing I have excellent night vision." Allowing himself to be led by the hand, he followed her to the edge of the underground tributary. "Okay. On three?"

"You want to jump into an underground whitewater?"

"You'd prefer getting shot?"

"We're not even sure they're following us."

"Down this inescapable shaft that marks our only possible escape route?"

"Granted, they…" He heard the sudden echo of murmuring voices. "How long can you hold your breath?"

"Awhile. You?"

"Right. Hold onto my hand."

"Always, Steve."

He was yanking on more than her hand when they emerged in the open air more than 'awhile' later. "Natasha! Nat!" He struggled to thump his hand against her chest in the rushing current.

A few sudden coughs were followed by a hard blow to his own sternum. "Don't get so excited, Rogers."

Steve could feel the stiffness in his muscles as they made their way toward the bank. He knew they'd both taken a beating against the cave walls and river rocks and watched Natasha carefully as she flopped onto the shore. "Are you hurt?"

"Bumps and bruises. You?"

"Same." He sat up slowly and breathed in deeply. "We should probably…."

"Yeah. My homing beacon got smashed at some point."

He glanced around nervously as he activated his own tracker. "Are there crocodiles or something here?"

"No. Not at all." She was panting heavily. "Tigers, though."

"Maybe we should get moving."

"In a minute."

He sighed in concession. He was feeling worse by the moment. If the jet hadn't gotten too far, it would be easier to home in on a stationary target. He didn't even care that they were still potential targets for some very angry terrorism-funding opium dealers whose entire infrastructure had just been compromised. He pulled his shield off his back and set it beside him before lying back down. "Think we should move to higher ground?"

The only move she made was a roll to nestle against his side. "We have to talk when we get back."

"Okay." It was comfortable until the lights of the jet illuminated their position. "Looks like our ride waited for us."

She sat up with a groan. They were strapped into their seats a few minutes later, confronted with four members of an unharried looking STRIKE team. "Didn't manage to pick up a drink for you, Romanoff, but if you feel like a hit of smack…"

"Shut up, Rumlow."

Steve had to agree with Natasha, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder as he removed his helmet. He couldn't be sure, but she was either sleeping or doing a very good job of faking it while he discussed the recovered intel with Rumlow during the flight back to DC.


	8. Love Her Madly

A/n: Just a general thank you to all readers for sticking with the story thus far, and uncomfortably long and awkward hugs (in the very best way) for reviewers. And now the warning – this chapter has some (i.e. lots of) naughty bits dangling out for all to see and is therefore **RATED M**.

* * *

><p>Natasha had woken in the jet not to the comforting rise and fall of Steve's breathing, but by an incoming message from Director Fury that the Myanmar operation had caused an immediate domino effect, requiring intervention all over Southeast Asia. The jet had been diverted to Diego Garcia for resupply and reinforcement; the entire STRIKE team had been retasked to weapons depots, drug operations and terrorist training camps in Indonesia, followed by Cambodia, then Laos, then back to Indonesia, always leaving the hairiest situations to her and Steve's tender mercies. After nearly two weeks of constant travel and intense ground combat, even Captain America had not been left with much in the way of compassion. At least they had effectively removed any threat presented by JAT and its associates.<p>

Now all they needed was a damn vacation, which was why she had convinced the pilot to surrender the controls of the jet if he liked the current arrangement of his face. Steve was standing behind her, hand on the headrest but not touching her. She could feel his disapproval of her tactics, but he had yet to argue against her stated intentions. It _was_ just them in the jet, excluding the dazed pilot and now-terrified co-pilot; STRIKE had been deployed all over the region and would probably just be mad they hadn't thought of her instant R&R plan first.

The voice she had been waiting for finally came through her headset twenty minutes from their destination. "There better be a damn good reason you're hijacking my jet, Romanoff."

"Rogers and I are going to Bali for the week. As soon as we get there, you get the jet back, Director."

"You have some information you'd like to share with the rest of the class?"

"Just a backlog of vacation time and the address of a really nice resort. Will that be a problem?"

"And your mission reports?"

"Ten days' vacation with complete reports submitted on return."

"We don't bargain with terrorists, Romanoff. What makes you think I'm willing to adopt that strategy with you?"

"Twelve days, Director. That's my final offer."

There was a tense moment, but Fury finally chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you earned it. Introduce Rogers to some good lawar while you're there."

"Understood, sir. Romanoff out."

In her peripheral vision, she could see Steve leaning down into the space between the two control chairs. "Were you going to discuss this plan with me at any point before we landed?"

She turned and grinned at him. "Surprise?"

Less than an hour later they were walking through the tropically decorated lobby of an upscale resort, still wearing their somewhat less than pristine uniforms, although Natasha had tucked her visible weapons into a duffle along with a few t-shirts and spare sets of BDUs she had found aboard the jet. The clerk behind the gleaming wood desk eyed them, before seeming to make a decision. Speaking in accented English, he said, "I apologize, but we are not available at the moment for rooms. Please to try one of our island's many other beautiful…"

He trailed off as Natasha quietly set one of her most powerful weapons on the desktop with a faint metallic sound. A moment later, the resort manager was standing before them, all smiles, offering them a private beachfront bungalow for their twelve-night stay. She maintained a half-smile, accepting his obsequiousness as if it were due her. She leaned against the counter and turned to Steve as the arrangements were finalized.

He seemed vaguely amused. "Power of the plastic, huh?"

"Anodized titanium, actually, but who's keeping track?" She tucked the card back into its concealed pouch on her gun belt as soon as it was returned to her. "What do you feel like for dinner?"

"Can we get it now?" He indicated the clock on the wall, which indicated the local time as just past ten. She shuddered to think what room service had been like in the forties.

The manager piped up, "We can make arrangements for anything you would like at any time, of course."

"Oh." Steve shrugged. "Uh, steak? Baked potato?"

"Very good, sir. And you, madam?"

"Mass protein ingestion? Hm. The man makes a good point. We'll have plenty of time for the local cuisine while we're here. Make it two and a bottle of champagne at our door in an hour."

"It would be my personal pleasure to…"

"We'll just be taking our keys now."

"Of course." He clapped his hands twice and the clerk who had greeted them appeared and snatched their duffle bags from the floor. He had escorted them to their bungalow and disappeared before she had had time to apologize for not having any cash on her, dollars or rupiah.

She locked the door with a shrug and turned to find Steve, who was gaping at the nighttime view from the panoramic windows beyond the king size bed two rooms over from the foyer. "_This_ is a hotel?"

"Resort, Steve. And this is their best room. Aren't we lucky?"

"I'm going to skip any questions about that and move on to the next one. Why'd you tell them to bring food in an hour? I'm starving."

"I thought we'd want to shower first."

"Oh. Fair enough." He collapsed into a chair near the window and waved toward the open bathroom door. "Ladies first."

She began unclipping belts and removing her boots before nonchalantly saying, "I did mean _we_."

He sat up as if he'd been shocked. "Together?"

"Steve, we're going to be here for two weeks. Just us, on vacation." She pulled down the zipper on the front of her catsuit and slipped out of the top portion. She was down to just her underwear when he managed to speak again.

"Weren't, uh, weren't we going to talk about this before, uh…"

"Do you have the energy for a serious conversation right now?"

"Uh, not really." He watched, mesmerized, as she unhooked her bra and dropped it on the floor. "Oh, Nat…"

"Stop thinking so hard and take your clothes off." She was completely naked now and walked toward the bathroom, pausing in the doorway. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, but…I'll be in the shower."

She had washed her hair and lathered her body with the surprisingly creamy hotel-provided soap when she started to feel a keen sting of disappointment. Maybe he was just too tired from the past two weeks. Maybe he was nervous. Maybe he wasn't interested and was only being polite. Enough maybes had occurred to her to make her start feeling very stupid when she heard him enter the bathroom. She grinned to herself, only partially with relief.

He opened the glass door a moment later and looked at her shyly. "Do you…should I just…"

She tugged his hand and led him under the warm spray of the showerhead. "Relax. Just close your eyes and enjoy the way it feels." In spite of their proximity, she could feel the tension begin to leave his body as she reached up and began to shampoo his hair, massaging his scalp even as the lather began to rinse away. The effect on him was starting to become very obvious. Lacing her fingers into his hair a little more tightly, she gently guided his head down until she could reach his lips. The kiss was soft and gentle, though his hands remained stubbornly at his sides. Still, after a few moments, she was so lost in his mouth that she didn't notice. She pulled back reluctantly when the water splashing up her nose became a distraction. "Now _that_ I believed."

He stared deeply into her eyes. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Ssh. We'll start slow. I won't push. You'll forget I'm even here."

"Kinda hard."

"I noticed. Just try it. Hmm?" She knew she needed to get him more comfortable if this wasn't going to turn into an awkward long weekend instead of a two-week dream. "Really, forget I'm here. Close your eyes. Pretend it's just you, alone in the shower. Just make it a fantasy, okay?"

She began to soap his body, running her hands over the perfect definition of his shoulders, chest, arms and back. She lingered on his stomach and he hesitated so long that she was worried he'd fallen asleep on his feet, but he eventually said, "I…I'm in the shower. The one in my apartment. I just got home from a run. And then…you're there. You broke in with pastries or something. You come into the bathroom to find me and sort of invite yourself into the shower."

"Am I naked?"

"Oh yeah. I don't know how you got undressed so fast."

"And what do you do?"

"I…I…"

She could see color that had nothing to do with the water temperature creeping up his face. "Ssh. Show me."

"I…" His right hand was trembling as he brought it to his arousal. He gave himself a long, tentative stroke from base to tip. "I…I just think about you…just you being with me and…" He gasped as she added her own feather-light touch behind his next stroke. "Natasha…" A few more repetitions and his hand dropped away, allowing her to take over. She increased the strength of her grip and used both hands, using his frequent gasps and soft moans to gauge his response to differing pressures and rhythms. She could see an entirely new tension take over his body as he gave himself over to the experience. He was leaning into the shower wall over her shoulder with his left hand as she increased her intensity. At the critical moment, his eyes shot open and he shouted, "Natasha!"

His warm spurts were washed away almost as soon she felt them against her stomach. She continued to stroke him until he began to soften in her hands. She withdrew her touch slowly, waiting for him turn his gaze away from the ceiling. Her voice came out in a whisper she didn't intend, "Steve?"

"Natasha, I…" He finally met her searching eyes. "That was incredible." He reached behind him to turn off the water. "What…what happens next?"

"Mmm." She raised an eyebrow and he leaned down to kiss her hungrily, though still seemingly undecided between gentlemanly reserve and unconstrained lust. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts into his chest, but his hands still hovered uncertainly over her shoulders. She made a brief foray down his neck, nipping and licking his slick skin before pulling back. "We're not going to get very far if you're afraid to touch me."

"Where should …where should I put my hands?"

"Where do you want to?"

To her surprise, he didn't hesitate further, slipping his arms around her waist and resting his open palms against her lower back for a moment before his fingers spread lower. He began a gentle kneading motion before squeezing. "Ooh!"

He nearly slipped he pulled back so quickly. "Did I hurt you?"

"Not at all. Surprised me a little, going straight for the ass. I thought you might start at the front and work your way back."

"Are you kidding? When you walk away in your catsuit…that thing should be against the Geneva Convention."

"The suit or my ass?"

"Let's just say that I don't prefer a position in front of you solely because I'm protective by nature."

"Hmm." She stepped into him again, this time taking his hands and guiding them to her breasts. He cupped them almost reverently. "Well?"

"You are so…every part of you…amazing." This kiss was anything but reluctant. He became more adventurous, running his hands all over her body as he delved into her with his tongue. She pressed against him, pulling her knee up along his leg but almost losing her balance on the shower tile. His arm tightened around her waist as he picked her up and carried her over to the long vanity counter. The marble was cold as he set her down. She leaned back, resting the back of her head against the mirror, encouraging his mouth lower. From this position, she was able to wrap her legs around him easily, grinding against him.

To her surprise, he pulled back, mouth popping off the nipple he had been engrossed in a moment earlier. "I want…not yet. I want to learn how to touch you…how to…" Her legs were still around his hips, making it impossible to clamp her thighs over his hand as he finally slipped a tentative finger between her warm, wet folds. "Is that…?"

"Stop and I will hurt you."

He didn't smile, but locked eyes with her, maintaining the stare as his touch became more confident. She reached down to cover his hand with her own, to guide him. He was by no means expert, but she fell to pieces in under a minute with the combination of his caresses and the intensity in his eyes. "Steve…" Then he was kissing her again, communicating passion and desire and lust and…

She was falling down the rabbit hole, on the verge of losing herself in him completely. She heard knocking, but it sounded so far away. And then he was wrapping her in a fluffy white hotel robe, leaving the bathroom tying the belt of his own robe. She pulled herself together and followed, catching up to him in the dining room. Two uniformed waiters were setting the table with silver-covered trays. "No."

"Madam, you ordered…"

"I know, but…just leave everything and go, please."

The two men hurriedly unloaded the rest of their cart and bowed themselves out. She leaned into Steve's arms as stepped behind her. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine. I just…I don't like being interrupted."

She smiled as he buried his face in her neck. "Good thing we're gonna be here for a while, then, huh?"

* * *

><p>Steve opened his eyes in the light of an early dawn reflected off impossibly blue water. The view wasn't nearly as spectacular as the one to his other side. The sheet had slipped down, revealing Natasha's bare back. She was blinking at him lazily, her green eyes heavily lidded. He reached over to touch her and found his hand drawn to the creamy exposed skin of her back. There were a few bruises in various purples and yellows marring the expanse; he couldn't help but think of how many times they'd put their lives in each other's hands over the past two weeks. Why did this feel so infinitely more significant? He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I'm not all that clear on the morning after etiquette."<p>

"Me neither." She quirked an eyebrow in response to his quizzical expression. "I'm not exactly the kind of girl you wake up with."

"Well…" The hand that had stopped rubbing gentle circles on her lower back resumed. "You're here now."

"Mm hmm." She moved closer, increasing the heat rushing toward his groin. "Although I think 'morning after' implies that…"

He silenced her with a deep kiss. He had been concerned that something would be different when they woke, but, if anything, he felt more comfortable with her body pressed against him, hands roaming freely. Somehow, he ended up on top of her a few minutes later. Being careful to support most of his body weight on his elbows on either side of her ribcage, he hovered over her. "I want you, Natasha. If the past two weeks have been a taste of hell, I'm ready for a little heaven."

She looked up at him seriously. "Are you sure?"

"I'm ready. I've never wanted anything more. Not even to join the Army."

"Gee, you really know how to make a girl feel special."

"Sorry, I just…I thought the heaven and hell thing was pretty good."

"It's okay to be a little nervous." She was smiling now. "We'll take it slow, hm?" She gripped him gently. "All systems go, I see. Okay, pull your right leg along my side. You'll get better leverage." He did as he was told, aware that she was pulling up her own knee to give him better access as she guided him in. He shuddered as she used his tip to stroke between her legs. "Mmm. Now, just the tip. I want you to go little by little."

He hesitated in spite of her encouraging smile. "So I don't hurt you?"

"So you don't get overexcited and…oh! Yes, just like that. Nice and…mmm…slow."

"This…" He struggled to maintain his self-control as he sank into her tantalizingly gradually. She was squeezing him somehow, pulling him in inch by aching inch. After what felt like an eternity, he could go no further, pressed firmly against her pelvis. He kissed her lightly. "That's…"

"We're just getting started. Take a few deep breaths. Get used to the depth."

He nodded, unsure of exactly what she was asking. "Are you…how do you feel?"

"Like naughty Cinderella." She squeezed again and he gasped. "You're a perfect fit." She ran her hands over his body, leaving little trails of fire everywhere she touched. Her hands settled on his hips. "I won't insult you by explaining the mechanics, but don't just start jackhammering. Take your time. Slow at first," fireworks went off in his brain as she started to work her hips against him, "then build to a rhythm."

He tried to focus, but it was impossible. The world could go to hell outside this bed; there _was_ no world outside the two of them. After a minute or so of awkwardly timed thrusts, he managed to match the rhythm she was setting. He groaned with satisfaction at the small accomplishment, which made everything just…oh. He stopped trying to form coherent thoughts. Holy…holy… "Natasha!"

"That's right, Steve. Oh! Just…like…that! Steve!"

She was clutching at him now, her movements becoming more frantic. His own tenuous control was slipping away rapidly, but this was too good to end so soon. There was no way anything could feel more amazing than…

Natasha suddenly cried out, her hips bucking wildly and he exploded in a burst of white light.

He wasn't sure how he ended up on his back, panting for breath, just that he wanted more. He wanted this unbelievable perfection. He wanted it forever. He wanted _her_. When he finally trusted himself to speak, he muttered, "Natasha, I l.." His declaration was smushed by her hand on his lips.

"No. Don't ever say it after sex."

"Should I have said it before?"

"No. You can't…you can't put the two together and…"

"That's ridiculous. I can't change how I feel and I can't pretend it doesn't affect…"

"Stop!" Natasha was sitting on the edge of the bed now. "That was unbelievable, but don't think it means…I'm sorry, Steve. I don't think I can give you what you want."

"But you…you just…" He rested his forehead in the small of her back. "Could we give it a little time before we start making major decisions? Like, eleven more days?" He kissed his way up her spine, slipping his hand into her lap. "Please?"


	9. Waking Up in Vegas

Natasha signaled the lounge attendant to request another drink. She and Steve were in the airport awaiting their final leg of first class flights from Bali-to-Cairns-to-Sydney-to-LA-to-DC. She couldn't remember the last time she'd flown commercial, but she'd definitely been missing out on the latest improvements to air travel by relying on SHIELD's quinjets. She wasn't sure how much was due to SHIELD intervention and how much to her Black Card, but Delta's LAX lounge was almost as comfortable as the Qantas 747 that had carried them on the longest segment of their journey. She settled deeper into her chair, closing her eyes. Steve had yet to mention how they would be dealing with…things. She had been comfortably numb from a steady flow of vodka since leaving their _relationship_ behind in Bali, though she knew she couldn't keep it up indefinitely. If they could just make it back to DC, she could retreat to her apartment and regroup for a day or two without his kisses and caresses and…

She held out a fistful of unidentified bills, acquired on her travels, for the man who set her vodka on the rocks beside her.

She didn't have to open her eyes to see Steve's disapproving glare. "Aren't you, uh, overdoing it a little?"

"I don't like flying."

"We've flown together tons of times and I never remember you…"

"With civilians, Rogers. It's different when you have to sit through the demo about your oxygen mask and inflatable seat cushion and not disabling the escape hatch in your window or whatever." Sure, the movies on international commercial flights were generally better than SHIELD briefings, but her weapons were all 'safely' stored in the cargo compartment and there was always one person who couldn't stop talking about the amenities of real silverware and touchscreens. It didn't make it easier that that person was her travel companion on this trip. Thus far, she had learned that people used to dress in their best clothes for air travel, that propeller planes used to be the norm, and that jetways were a new innovation. She had, of course, waved to any number of imaginary admirers while deplaning directly to the runway at various airports around the world, but that was…that was totally different and impossible to confirm without witnesses willing to talk.

She downed her drink and was in the process of signaling for another when her phone chirped. She had been ignoring it since landing, but assumed it would only be so long before the landlines started ringing for her, or, worse, Rogers. She slid her finger along the screen without looking and answered, "Romanoff."

"Have you been checking your voicemails or should I just start at the beginning?"

"Oh, Hill, how I've missed your dulcet tones."

"Well, I suppose it's not a drawback if you've been drinking, since we need you in Las Vegas."

Natasha made the effort to sit up in her seat. "Seriously?"

"You happen to be the closest active team in the area." Hill's dripping sarcasm just added to the enjoyment; Natasha turned over another ridiculous tip to the waiter as she listened to the mission details. "Well, I think we can manage that."

"May I speak to Captain Rogers?"

"Why?"

"Because you just told me you think you can mangle hats."

She shrugged and handed her phone across the aisle to Steve, who listened with a serious expression for long enough for her to finish her fresh drink. She was contemplating ordering another when he grabbed her hand a moment later. "We're back on the clock."

Hours and hours later – by the clock – Natasha yawned unintentionally, waking herself to their surroundings. Paris. Las Vegas. Never as good as the real thing, but the French onion soup in the café was enough to rouse her senses to beyond the living-dead level. "Jesus, Rogers. How can you be awake with that stack of carbs in front of you?"

He lifted his coffee cup to signal the waitress and shoveled another forkful of pancakes into his mouth in the 'outdoor' portion of the indoor restaurant. "Are you kidding? This is great. 4AM and anything I want. I feel like I should try the French Toast next, but that soup smells so good…"

"You…" She couldn't even pull together an appropriate insult. Two weeks in Bali with unlimited amenities and pancakes in Las Vegas were what got him. She scowled at her own unimproved coffee; not even a shot of Bailey's because they were _working_. They were supposed to be following the money of a crooked roulette junkie who also dabbled in Middle Eastern politics, but she had never realized exactly how exhausting Vegas was if you were accompanying a first timer. It had started with the slots in the terminal at McCarran and gone downhill from there. She had known there were rides at the top of the Stratosphere, but honestly… And the roller-coaster at New York, New York was fine the first time around, but the third? No. Just no. A room on the fountain-side of the Bellagio did not excuse watching every single show on the rare occasions they were in their room. She could barely even begin to process his excitement over the plastic yellow miner's helmets they'd been issued during their interminable tour of the Hoover Dam; that excursion hadn't included their target _at all_. Now he was babbling about hiking Red Rock Canyon like it was their damn job.

She would do Vegas clubs or tourist attractions, but not both. As their target was a night owl – one whom they'd managed to tag with a GPS tracker to the iPhone the second night – she would have been content to stay up all night and sleep during the day, although she had the feeling that Steve was doing his level best to keep them out of their hotel room. This couldn't last much longer. "Steve."

"Yeah?"

"Focus."

He swallowed with some effort. "Guy's right over there. Hasn't moved since we sat down."

"I didn't mean…" She had to make an effort to stop herself from looking. "Really?"

"Not like I'm gonna lose the tail now. I have been learning from SHIELD's best for months, haven't I?"

She bit her cheek to stop herself from smiling. "Well, yeah, but…hiking?"

"We're supposed to be a couple on vacation, right? That's the kind of thing a couple might do, right?"

"Yes, but…" she glanced around and lowered her voice, "we've been sharing a bed for four days and you haven't been interested in anything else a vacationing couple might do."

"It's a king-sized bed, Natasha, so there's plenty of room for two people to sleep comfortably. And as you keep reminding me, we're not in Bali anymore."

She tried not to feel insulted by his lack of initiative and complete rejection of hers. "Guess you're not familiar with the ad campaigns for Vegas," she muttered, pushing her soup away. She suddenly wasn't very hungry.

"Oh." He managed to combine sliding down in his seat with looking more alert. "Looks like our man is out of dough for the night. Guess I won't be getting my refill."

"Oh, God. I hope he's just headed to his room."

"We won't know if we don't follow him."

She slumped against him like an authentic tired girlfriend as he paid for their dinner? Breakfast? And pulled her after the target into the warm night. She stumbled with him into Planet Hollywood's labyrinth of shops. Why were they here when they were staying down the hall from their target on the opposite side of Las Vegas Boulevard? "Steve, I need sleep or a Red Bull."

"Just a minute." She leaned against the wall as he peered around the corner. She didn't make any further protests, as he appeared to be listening intently. Suddenly, he was pressing her against the wall, kissing her the way he had so many times on the island, threatening to turn her knees to jelly. He now had one hand running up her thigh, fingertips flitting at the hem of her short dress while the other reached around behind her. Oh, she had _missed_ this. She had just gotten his shirt untucked when he ended the encounter as abruptly as he'd begun it.

"Something wrong?"

"What? Oh, they're gone. I figured we could stop with the distraction. The meet is in two days, by the way, someplace called Venom at midnight. Sound familiar?"

"I think it's a club off the Strip that got shut down for…wait, you just felt me up as a cover?"

He shrugged. "Seemed like the Vegas thing to do. We should probably head back to the hotel and contact, uh, our friends to see what we should plan for."

She was even more tired an hour later after a conversation with Fury – observe and report, contact not authorized, but mine the hell out of any data they're dumb enough to leave unsecured. The usual spy game. She could deal with that with both hands tied behind her back. The other thing, however…maybe they could save the light bondage for some point in the future. She stretched out, still fully dressed. "Steve. No more fountains. Come to bed."

"The fountain shows don't run this late. Or early." He was sitting in a chair he'd pulled up to the window and she could smell coffee brewing in the small provided pot. He appeared engrossed in the mission profile on the tablet in his hands. "You sleep."

"But I'm still dressed. Could you at least unzip me?"

"No, Natasha."

"Come on, Rogers. We're tracking the guy electronically and we've got an alarm set to go off if he leaves his room." She did her best to look alluring rather than exhausted as she propped herself up on an elbow and fiddled with the straps on her heels. "There's plenty of time for a little fun."

"You know it's not just fun for me."

"Damn it, Steve. You can't shove me up against a wall like that one second and tell me you're not interested the next."

"That's not what's happening and you know it." He was standing over her in a flash and she was on her feet with the bed between them more from reflex than fear. She didn't think she'd ever seen him so heated. "I agreed to twelve days of…of…not talking about it, of pretending it was just physical even though we both knew…we both _felt_…"

"Don't fucking tell me how I feel!"

He caught her by the wrists before she could escape into the bathroom. "Natasha…"

"Let me go." She struggled futilely in his powerful grasp. "Don't…"

"I can't take this, Nat. Just…let me love you. Is that so hard?"

"Please…Steve…"

"I'm not even asking you to love me back yet. I just know that I love you and I can't act like I don't. Can we just…?"

"No!" She managed to pull free from his hold and slammed the bathroom door in his face. She turned her back to it, sinking to the floor and allowing his repeated knocking to shake her body as much as her silent sobs did.

"I'm sorry! Natasha, I didn't mean to grab you like that, I just…"

She was still breathing heavily five minutes later, using her body as an unnecessary barricade against the door, when she heard him whisper hoarsely, "I love you, Natasha. I love you."

"Steve…" She was sure he couldn't hear her through the door.


	10. Failure to Communicate

Steve was beginning to think his revival from the ice had been accompanied by a heretofore unrecognized curse. Or maybe he just needed someone to watch silly mummy movies with. His first and only choice wasn't speaking to him (again) and, were they on speaking terms, he suspected that he and Natasha wouldn't be spending a ton of time on movies. Or would they? Normal couples in normal relationships watched movies together.

Normal. Right.

Ever since they had gotten back from Las Vegas, she had been actively avoiding him rather than just ignoring him. If he entered the gym, she would abruptly end her workout and leave. In meetings together she would sit as far away from him as possible. She'd nearly run him over in her haste to get away from him in the garage three days ago. He was currently giving a new speed bag a thorough breaking-in after her latest disappearing act from the free weight benches.

It didn't help that the entirety of SHIELD was watching them with eager interest, probably assuming that the cold shoulder was just a diversionary tactic. He was used to getting looks just for being Captain America, but now the men were regarding him with mixed jealousy and awe, some even going so far as to offer winking congratulations or outright lewd comments. Steve generally took them good naturedly; he wasn't as naïve as everyone seemed to think. In addition to actually _being_ a man, he had served in the Army and been in enough locker rooms to know how guys talked about women when left to themselves. Just because he preferred not to participate beyond an occasional nod or chuckle didn't mean he disapproved of the often explicit stories and observations about the human male's favorite topic. It had gone too far exactly one time and if Rollins from STRIKE had to have his jaw wired shut for the next few weeks, Steve really didn't feel all that bad about it. It would have been worse for the guy if Natasha had heard his question about her willingness to perform certain…acts.

He briefly paused his assault on the defenseless piece of equipment as two female agents passed him with looks he couldn't quite interpret. There was a tinge of disappointment, but he couldn't decide if it was related to his assumed relationship status or his choice. He liked to think they were unhappy he hadn't shown any interest in them, but how could he have even considered it? There was no woman at SHIELD that could compete with Natasha. No woman in the world, most likely. Not even Peggy back in 1945. Wait. Not even Peggy? He took a long swig from his water bottle as he thought about it. He'd made his decision by the time he'd finished swallowing.

The first thing Steve noted about the women's locker room was that it seemed to be a mirror image of the men's. He took a deep breath and concentrated on keeping his eyes open as he walked further into the room. He was able to drop his nonchalance when he saw a familiar face. "Hill, have you seen Natasha?"

She frowned at him, but turned back to tying her sneakers as if seeing Captain America in the women's locker room was just something that couldn't be avoided. "Check the sauna. Down the aisle and take a left past the sinks."

"Thanks."

Now that he had a destination, he made a point of keeping a hand firmly clasped to his eyes and looking only at the floor until he found the cedar door that could only mean the sauna entrance. He paused before pulling it open. He stepped inside and closed the door firmly behind him. When he finally looked up, he felt extremely fortunate that Natasha was the only person present. She seemed neither surprised nor amused by his appearance. "Rogers."

He tried, spectacularly unsuccessfully, to focus on the towel wrapped around her hair. "You…you're very naked."

"Yes. I'm in the sauna."

Thank God she'd been sitting with her legs crossed when he'd come in. He ignored the flare of lust and desire in his chest. "I…I thought we need to talk."

"Now?"

"I didn't think we should put it off…any longer." He licked his lips and tried not to track a bead of sweat making its way down her neck and between her breasts.

"Oh?"

"Natasha…we both want this. I know we do. Can we please just…"

"Stop with the 'we' bullshit." She crossed her arms over her chest, making it slightly easier for him to concentrate. "Tell me what _you_ want."

He took a deep breath and smiled at the ease of the question. "_You_, Natasha. I want to be with you. I want to fall asleep with you at night after we make love and wake up with you in the morning and share a ride to work and argue about what we're going to have for dinner and what we're going to watch on TV while we cuddle on the couch. I want to hold you and kiss you and show you how much I love you every opportunity I get. Because I love you and I can't imagine life without you."

She stood slowly, using the towel she had been sitting on as a wrap around her midsection. She stepped down from the bench and stood in front of him. Her palm was warm even in the dry heat of the sauna as she placed it against his cheek.

He didn't move to kiss her, although he desperately wanted to. "Please, Nat. Please."

She looked at him steadily, stunningly green eyes unblinking. "Steve, someday you are going to meet a woman, and she is going to stare into your eyes and say, 'I love you,' and you are going to feel like you're drowning, you'll be so overwhelmed. That's what I want for you."

She slipped past him and left him alone in the sauna. He sank onto a bench, head in his hands.

* * *

><p>"Um, Agent Hill?"<p>

Hill wiped the sweat from her face and looked at the junior agent addressing her. "Yes?"

"I don't mean to bother you, but Captain Rogers is in the sauna."

"So?" She keyed in the combination to her locker and opened it.

"In here."

Hill blinked. She had told him where to find Romanoff before her workout and her workout had lasted over an hour, which meant that Rogers had probably been in there at least that long. She suddenly felt alarmed. "Is he hurt?"

"I don't think so."

"Then, what?"

"I just mean, he's sitting in the women's sauna. With all his clothes on."

"You want me to order him to strip?"

"N-no. It's just that it seems like he's been in there for a while and no one knows what to do."

"Has anyone tried asking him to leave?"

"We thought maybe a senior agent could…I mean, he's Captain America, ma'am."

"I'll take care of it," she said with a sigh and a wave of dismissal. She was really beginning to dislike the dimension of her job that seemed to make junior agents think she was the cheerleading captain, holding ultimate sway over all things locker room related. Or something. She really didn't have the energy to sort through Rogers and Romanoff's drama after ten miles on the treadmill, but there was always a chance that future SHIELD agents would be rehydrating the poor guy's body in another 70 years if she didn't handle this now so…

Hill tugged open the sauna door and stepped inside. She'd never understood how anyone could last more than five minutes in here. Rogers wasn't even sweating as he sat on the bottom bench, head leaning back against the top one. He hadn't even opened his eyes when she'd entered. She sat on the opposite bench, resting her palms on her knees. "Planning to stay in here all day, Captain Rogers?"

"Huh? Oh. No. I…I should probably…go." He didn't make a move to get up.

"I take it your conversation with Agent Romanoff didn't go so well."

"Not particularly."

She exhaled audibly. "Don't know how to help on that one. Maybe you could figure it out somewhere cooler. Somewhere in the men's locker room."

"Yeah." He still didn't look like he was planning to get up any time soon.

"Is…is there anything I can do?"

"I don't think so."

"Look, you're obviously hurting and I'd throw you a life preserver if I could, but…"

"You'd what?"

"I'd offer you help if I knew what you needed."

"No, what you said before. You said you'd throw me a life preserver."

"It's just an expression."

"No, but I'm drowning."

"Kinda hard to do in a sauna."

"No, she said…she said I'd feel like I'm drowning. And I'm drowning. I'm drowning!"

"Is that something to be happy about?"

He suddenly jumped up. "I'm drowning and today is someday."

"Rogers, I think the heat may be affecting you."

"No, I just finally got it." He picked her up in an exuberant hug and swung her around the small space. "I'm drowning, Hill!"

"Um…" His excitement was more contagious when he put her down. "Should you be doing something about this drowning thing?"

"Yes!" He shoved the sauna door open, but paused. "Agent Hill, if you would be so kind as to convey my apologies to the ladies for…"

"Rogers, stop being a gentleman for a second and go find Romanoff. That's an order."

"Yes, ma'am!" He snapped off a smart salute before taking off at a run. Hill shook her head and waved off the group of women gathered at the corner. Apparently word had gotten out that she actually had been planning to order Rogers to strip.

* * *

><p>Clint sighted down the arrow notched in his bow and decided to spare the mechanic the terror of a shot through the opening at the end of his ratchet. He released the tension on the string and changed arrows, selecting a new target far below on the hangar floor. Something much closer moved, catching his attention, but he decided it was best not to aim at Natasha's hand, no matter how distracting he found her fingertips tapping against the girder. He lowered his bow and set it atop the pile of arrows he had deemed acceptable for use. "Are you just gonna lie on that beam looking pitiful for the rest of the day or are you gonna tell me what's up?"<p>

She sighed heavily in reply. He shook his head. Hanging out with Natasha was usually one of his preferred activities, but he disliked being her second choice. If she wanted Rogers, she needed to stop being so damn stubborn about it. That, or drop it completely. She didn't pull off 'pining' very well. Clint shook his head again. "Y'know, I was saving this for a special occasion because I felt bad about leaving you hanging the last time I was out, but…"

She caught the small jewelry box without looking. Her features softened as she opened it. "Oh, Clint. That's sweet." She was actually clipping the small silver arrow necklace before he had the wherewithal to reply.

"Yeah, I…I figured it would be a little reminder that, uh, I'm still there, even when I'm not."

"It's perfect." She tossed the empty box back and he caught it without effort. "I should have gotten you something."

"For what?"

"Our anniversary."

"Oh…" He pretended to fumble with an arrow as he thought. "Right. The anniversary of me not putting one between your eyes."

"As if you could have." She fell silent as they both thought about the implications of the strange date. He was about to ask if she expected him to buy her dinner when she blurted out, "I told Steve I love him."

"Oh." He glanced out the window, but there were no signs of burning skies or horsemen. He decided it would be best to just go with it. "So, did the dumbass not say it back?"

"He's already said it a couple of times. I don't think he got it."

"What's to get? Unless…did you wuss out and say it Russian or something?"

"No."

"Tasha, you gotta give me something to work with."

"I made a stupid metaphor. Or simile. Analogy? Whichever. The point is if it were meant to be, he would have understood. He didn't."

"That's the dumbest reason you've come up with yet to avoid this thing with Rogers."

"I'm not avoiding…"

"Like hell you're not. Either fuck him until you get it out of your system or start something, which I think is what you're going for at this point if you're cryptically confessing your love to him."

"I don't…"

"You wouldn't be all worked up if this was just about sex. Just…let yourself feel something good for a change, Tash. I mean, he's freaking Captain America. I think you're pretty safe from heartbreak at this point."

"I…"

"Hm." He picked up his bow and sighted another target running around between the jets beneath them. "He's looking pretty frantic." Clint stepped off the wide window ledge onto the catwalk and hooked himself into the wire that would drop him to the floor of the hangar, the quickest exit from this particular hide. "Think I might just help the good Captain relieve some of his anxiety. Just remember, this is a Hawk's nest, not a love nest." He was dropping out of the shadows toward the floor before she could reply. As soon as his boots hit the floor, he called out, "Hey, Cap! Think I might be able to help you out!"


	11. Just the Way You Are

Natasha stared up at the ceiling of her bedroom in the early morning light. Same faux 19th century crown molding. Same gaudy light fixture she'd never gotten around to changing. Same crack in the plaster near the east wall. Was it a different woman in the bed? She looked down at where Steve had his head pillowed on her stomach and smiled. If she'd been impressed with his libido in Bali, she'd been completely blown away last night. A continuous, multi-hour orgasm seemed like a reductive description, but she couldn't put any other words to what she had felt. Maybe she didn't need to define it; it wasn't like she had girlfriends to gossip with and Clint would never want to hear about it – not in those terms, anyway. She was perfectly willing to be selfish about her time alone with Steve.

She began to trace the strong lines of his features with the fingertips of her right hand. She'd spent enough time convincing herself that she wasn't attracted to him that his handsome face came as a strangely pleasant surprise now that she had let him in. It was still the face she'd grown accustomed to seeing during missions, the source of the smile that had comforted her unadmitted countless times. And he was Captain America, of course – men drooled over the physique he presented so effortlessly, to say nothing of the women who openly gaped at him on a daily basis. It was hardly their first time together, so his gorgeous body shouldn't have been unexpected. Now, though…now he was hers. It felt strange and exhilarating and frightening. Steve Rogers had given her his heart, his soul, himself and she was willing to do anything to keep him safe and happy. She could already tell that love was exhausting.

He suddenly sighed and rubbed his nose against her stomach. "If there's a better way to wake up, I can't think of it."

She was tempted to suggest an idea or two, but decided that she could always surprise him at some point. "Good morning."

"Mornin', beautiful." He yawned widely. "It occurs to me that this is the first time I've ever been in your apartment, you know."

"Mmm." She ran her fingers through his soft hair as he opened his eyes and looked up at her. "Sorry if I didn't think to give you the grand tour before…"

"Oh, I'm not complaining. Believe me." They had barely made it out of the Triskelion after Clint had tipped him off to her hiding place the previous day. He hadn't even been angry about her somewhat awkward delivery of her first 'I love you,' being too thrilled about hearing it to consider anything else. As her apartment had been closest and she'd been driving, she had brought them here without a second thought. She didn't normally let anyone other than Clint through her front door, but this was a nice change. Steve seemed equally unconcerned about their location now as he turned his head and began kissing her abdomen lightly, his stubble pleasantly scratchy against her skin. "God, Natasha, I love you so much and I…"

"Steve?"

"Hm?"

"Look at me." He obliged, resting his chin on her stomach. It was impossible not to smile back at him. She resumed stroking his hair. "You know I…" she had to fight back a moment of terror before she continued, "I love you, right?"

"Of course. I love you, too."

"Well, do I have to keep saying it all the time?"

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"I think…I think I may need to ease into it a little." She bit her lip as he crept up her body, trailing wet kisses along his route to her face. "I just…I want to make sure that you _know_, y'know?"

He was hovering over her now. "Oh, I know." His kiss was soft against her lips, intensifying as it continued. She could feel him between her legs, hard and ready. He made no move, however, to initiate another incredible round of lovemaking. Lovemaking? Really, Natasha? It was damn lucky she wasn't facing a mirror right about now. She focused her full attention back on his mouth until he finally pulled back. "Um, is it okay if I keep saying it? I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but…I just really like saying it. It's like the floodgates of a dam opened and I can't find the shutoff."

"Should never have let you on that Hoover Dam tour," she complained while pushing her hips against him.

"Sadly, that is one of my better memories of our time in Las Vegas."

"Steve, I'm…"

"Don't apologize. I didn't understand how hard I was pushing you and…"

"Look, I think we both screwed up. Can we just move on?"

He finally settled into position on top of her. "How do you suggest we do that?"

Half an hour later she was brushing sweaty curls from her forehead and wondering how long it would take before SHIELD noticed their absence and started calling. She could probably hear her phone from here if her bag wasn't buried under discarded clothing in the hallway. For his part, Steve seemed completely unconcerned that they were due at work five minutes ago and had found a spot behind her left ear with some strange attraction. She let out a squeal as he found a nerve cluster she never would have thought to use _that_ way. He chuckled and kissed the outer shell of her ear, whispering, "I hope you've got understanding neighbors. Or deaf ones."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm just thinking that we're not exactly quiet. Much as I like hearing you scream my name, they may not be as appreciative."

"Oh, won't be a problem. It's just me on this floor and Clint on the fifth. We use the other units for storage mostly."

He rolled to the side, pulling her into his chest as he did so. "Wait, you live in a building where you and Barton are the only tenants?"

"We thought about renting some of the other apartments, but there's a lot of legal red tape and it just seemed like more trouble than it was worth." She snuggled closer, flicking her tongue against one of his flat nipples and tasting the salt of his sweat. "Besides, who would sign a lease with two master assassins as landlords?"

"You _own_ the whole building?"

"Well, Clint and I do." She was starting to feel a little self-conscious, so redoubled her efforts on distracting him with her lips on his chest, adding in a pec-addled mumble, "Real estate is a good investment."

"What? Oh, yeah, sure, I just…I didn't expect you to be the, uh, property owning type. Ties you down, right?"

"Wouldn't be a hard sell. Multi-unit brownstone in the Southwest Waterfront? Liquid in a week on the outside. Besides, I have assets to cover me in an emergency." She kissed his chest just over his heart. "Or cover us, I guess."

"Like your metal credit card?"

"Steve, it's not…" She felt an awkward romantic comedy plot coming on. "We're not going to fight about money, are we?"

"Us? No. Me and SHIELD's accounting department, on the other hand…"

"Most of it has nothing to do with SHIELD. It's just…it's not the kind of money you can return to the people you got it from." She felt the bottom drop out of her suddenly perfect world and turned away from him. "I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of and it's not like I can just fix all of it with anonymous monthly contributions to UNICEF and the WHO, but…I can't change who I was and if you don't want to deal with…"

"Hey, hey. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up any ugly luggage. I just thought maybe I was investing too much in the 401K and missing out on…hey, Natasha?" She allowed him to turn her chin so their eyes could meet. "I know…well…I don't _know_, but I've heard…you never really had a choice about being who you really were until a few years ago, right?"

"Doesn't change what I was."

"But it changed who you became. Who you are. And yeah, I probably wouldn't be crazy about you if we'd met five or ten years ago, but now…now… I mean, listen to you. You must be giving a lot to kids and sick people if you have to do it anonymously, huh?"

She accepted his loving kiss for a moment. "I still can't make up for…"

"Shh. The things I've seen you do since we've been working together could make up for a lifetime of wrong."

"Depends on the lifetime."

She felt him heave a deep breath into her neck. "Tell you what – next time you start thinking like that, just remember that you're Captain America's girl. Would Captain America really want to be with someone who didn't mesh with the ideals of loyalty and justice and liberty …and the most perfect ass evolution has ever created?"

He accompanied the final statement with a squeeze and she giggled – giggled! – and turned in his arms to face him again. "I guess I could try thinking a little more positively. On one condition."

"Name it."

"I want to be with Steve Rogers. Captain America is a wonderful ideal, but you, Steve…you are the real thing. You're a man, not just a construct. And I love you," she added in a small voice.

"Oh, Nat. It's gonna make me crazy if you can never see the you that I see. Because the you that I see is the most beautiful, smartest, most caring…"

"Stop!"

"Aw, c'mon. You're gorgeous when you blush." He rested his forehead against hers. "Just remember, you're my girl now. You're my girl."

She considered him seriously. "I won't let you down, Steve."

"I know." He pecked her lips. "I know." They simply lay in each other's arms for a long time before he asked, "You really own this building? And with Barton, huh?"

"Does it bother you?"

"What? No! Why would I be threatened by you owning what amounts to a giant house with your former partner who sort of rescued you from certain death? And who lots of people apparently thought you were involved with before I showed up?"

That drew more than just a giggle from her. "Is Captain America jealous?"

"I thought naked me only counted as Steve. Besides, I'm not jealous, I just…"

"You totally are!" She whacked him lightly with a pillow. "You probably haven't even noticed my new necklace."

"Actually I have and it's killing me not to ask about it. Please tell me I didn't miss your birthday."

She avoided the topic entirely, instead asking, "You know why there's three floors between me and Clint?"

"Why?"

"Because any closer and we'd spend all our time trying to kill each other over poor taste in loud music and arrows coming through the floor at all hours."

Steve narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you saying you have poor taste in loud music?"

"Maybe sometimes. But I make up for it with great taste in super soldiers."

When she finally managed to slink out of bed to check her phone, there was an odd lack of messages. This phenomenon was explained by a note slipped under the front door. _You and Rogers both have sick days today and tomorrow. I forged your signatures. Enjoy your four day weekend. And no more making out in my nests. – C_

She grinned and grabbed two water bottles from the refrigerator before heading back to the bedroom.

* * *

><p>"Damn you, Steve Rogers," Natasha screamed, punching him repeatedly in the chest.<p>

"Hey, hey." She struggled to free herself from the bearhug that suddenly pinned her arms from behind. Men in black were gathering around Steve. "Romanoff, Romanoff! Natasha!"

The odd sound of her first name in an unaccustomed voice broke her trance. She suddenly realized that it was Rumlow restraining her. She stopped struggling quite so hard. "What…?"

"My guys are giving him CPR, okay? Better than beating him back to life, right?"

She shook her head, causing the space to spin. "I…I have to…"

"You took a bullet to the head, Romanoff. You aren't doing him any good like this. Sit the hell down and let me take a look at you." She suddenly felt the strength drain from her limbs as Steve shook with a coughing fit in the back of the jet. Oh, they were in a quinjet. That had to be a good thing, probably. "Hey!"

"What?"

Rumlow was looking at her sternly. "Eyes on me. How many fingers?"

"Three."

"Good. Now follow my finger."

"Use a different finger or I break it."

"Okay, good." She followed his index finger with her eyes for what seemed like an unnecessary number of back and forths. "What do you remember about the mission?"

"Rumlow, is this really necessary?"

"Yeah, it is." He was tearing open a packet of gauze and pressing it to the side of her head. "Now tell me what you remember."

"Karachi. Bohri Bazaar. We were looking into an Al Qaeda recruiting group. We spotted them and followed them back toward a residential area where they ambushed us. Semi-automatic weapons. I…I…"

"No, that's good. You got grazed on the temple after we rushed the door of the house where they fled. Rogers went full-on berserker when he saw you go down. Three to the chest and still kicking ass. Guess that's why he's Captain America and I'm…whoa, Cap. Take it easy."

Natasha settled her arms on his shoulders as Steve replaced Rumlow kneeling in front of her. He was breathing with some difficulty and two members of STRIKE were holding lumps of bloodied gauze against his torso. His eyes, however, were completely clear. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. Better than you, apparently."

She tasted the coppery tang of blood in his mouth when he kissed her. When it ended, there were a group of usually unflappable men in the back of the jet finding either the floor or ceiling incredibly interesting. She whispered, "This might be a problem."

He whispered back, "Yeah, we need to do something about this."

"We could agree not to get shot from now on?"

"Sounds great on paper, but I have my doubts about putting it into practice."

"I think we may have a meeting with Fury in our future." Steve turned and sagged against her legs. She maintained pressure on two of his three wounds for the duration of their trip to a field hospital, where Rumlow had to restrain her once again and convince her to get stitched up while she was waiting for Steve to get out of surgery.


	12. Plastic Fantastic Lover

Nick Fury was not in the mood for office politics. A morning in closed chambers with the Senate Armed Services Committee could do that do a man. His first meeting of the afternoon was not looking promising, either. He decided to take a detour before dealing with the agents in his office.

Hill was diligently typing with a furrowed brow when he entered her office. He sank into the chair in front of her desk and waited. After a few moments and a sigh, she looked up. "Good afternoon, Director. Something I can do for you?"

_Yes, go deal with the mess in my office._ He thought for a moment and instead asked, "Do we have the intel on the Kazakh rebels who've supposedly gotten hold of the Soviet ICBMs yet?"

"Not as yet. Our assets in the vicinity have a bad habit of disappearing before getting their reports out."

Fury rubbed two fingers over the headache that was developing over his missing eye. "I suppose this means we have to send in a team at some point in the near future." He had other teams, of course, but this was beginning to sound like the kind of mission that demanded he send the best. His headache was not going away anytime soon. "Medical says Rogers should be clear for duty in a week. Will that be enough time?"

"I would say we have at least that much time unless there's a drastic change on the ground." Hill busily shuffled papers on her desk for a moment before looking up at him. "Sir, if I may?"

He frowned, but nodded. "You may."

"They're…happy. Really happy. Can you remember seeing Romanoff happy since she's been with SHIELD?"

"Well, there was that time we let her…"

"A time she wasn't carrying out state-sanctioned revenge?"

"Yeah…yeah. And Rogers is his own walking advertisement for second chances. So you're recommending I look the other way?"

"Not at all, sir. Just that you remind them how dangerous attachments can be in the field. But if I may speak freely?"

"You know you don't have to ask at this point, Hill."

"Sir, when Archimedes claimed he could move the world with a lever long enough, I don't think he had anticipated trying to separate Rogers and Romanoff. Unless you're willing to fire one or both of them…"

"Uh huh. Thanks, Hill. Keep me updated on the situation in Kazakhstan."

Her unnecessary affirmation followed him out the door. Romanoff and Barton he would have overlooked quite happily. Rogers and anyone may have led to a press release and a nice little confirmation that the poor guy was finding his way in the 21st century. Romanoff and Rogers, though? Damn quagmire if word got out. Black Widow may only have gained notice as the sexy redhead who'd helped save New York, but Captain America was a damned national treasure.

He'd been willing to ignore their little excursion to Bali, but things were getting out of hand when personal relationships began affecting the outcomes of missions. True, they'd neutralized the Al Qaeda recruiting cell in Karachi, but Rogers had been wounded and knocked out of the field for two weeks. It was only a matter of time before something happened that compromised them as a team or the people relying on them to get the job done. Granted, he would never leave an injured colleague behind, nor would he expect any of his field agents to do so, but…how the hell did you tell a ninety-three year old American hero who'd finally found love to keep it in his pants?

The pair was already waiting in his office when Fury arrived, standing in front of his desk… "Goddamnit, if you get called to the Director's office to be reprimanded for fraternization, don't hold hands!"

Rogers had the smarts to look abashed. "Sorry, sir." Romanoff just folded her arms and looked mildly annoyed; her brand of smarts never ceased to make him slightly nervous, no matter how much he trusted her in practice.

He sat in the chair behind his desk and spread his palms over the surface. "I suppose you both know why you're here."

They both started talking at once.

"Yes, sir, and while I recognize that the frat regs exist for a reason…"

"Yeah, but our personal lives aren't really any business of SHIELD's and I…"

Fury held up a hand. "Stop. I didn't call you here to demand that you end it," he paused for a glare at Romanoff, "because I know that wouldn't stop you. You're simply here to be informed that an official reprimand will be entered into both your files. Any further public demonstrations of flouting fraternization regulations will result in more of the same."

Rogers looked crestfallen; Romanoff had opted for bored. She'd gathered enough 'official reprimands' to understand how meaningless they were for a senior agent who got things done. Fury decided to let her explain that to Rogers later. He leaned back in his chair. "Off the record, I am happy for the two of you."

Romanoff lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I'm smiling on the inside. Now get the hell out of my office!"

He noted that Rogers was making a grab for Romanoff's hand as they strode out.

Fury turned to look out the window. "Damn kids."

* * *

><p>Tony Stark raised his hand and knocked enthusiastically on the door in front of him; the time change from Singapore to DC had really revitalized him, which was great considering it was seven in the morning on a Sunday, a time he'd only been vaguely aware existed a few hours ago. He knocked again. "Come on, kids. No avoiding Uncle Tony. And I brought Danishes! With frosting and little fruit centers!"<p>

He was about to attempt an entry via bribery – the privilege of an advance viewing of the new Avengers action figures – when a door down the hall opened. He pushed his sunglasses down his nose to get a better view of the blonde in scrubs who emerged from the neighboring apartment. "Well, hello-o-o-o, nurse."

"Yeah, hi."

"Oh, sorry. How rude of me. I'm Tony Stark. Some people spell it Iron Man, so there's that. My good pal Captain America never mentioned he shared a building with anyone from the Maxim top one hundred list."

She blinked at him with uncomprehending eyes. "What?"

"Right." Apparently sleepy medical professionals were immune to his charms. "You wouldn't happen to know if Cap is home, would you?"

The woman scowled. "Well, he was home at ten last night. And eleven-thirty. And one. And four o'clock this morning."

"Um…"

"Yeah, they're loud and the walls are shockingly thin."

Tony bit back an exclamation of amused surprise and covered it with a compliment. "Well, if I may say so, the apparent lack of beauty sleep hasn't had any negative effects on you, Miss…?"

The door suddenly opened behind Tony on a shirtless Steve Rogers. "Good morning, Sharon," he said politely before grabbing Tony's lapel and dragging him inside.

"Hey, watch the Hugo Boss, Capsicle." He brushed Rogers off and glanced around the small apartment before setting his box of pastry and briefcase on the kitchen counter. "Nice place you got here. Coffee?"

"It's seven in the morning on a weekend, Stark."

"So, am I to understand you _haven't_ made coffee yet?"

"Will you leave if I give you a cup of coffee?"

"Sure. Why not? Scout's honor."

He waited until Rogers turned his back and looked busy before doing some exploring on his own. He found his goal almost immediately. "Wow, it is _musky_ in here." A knife hit the doorframe beside his head almost immediately. "Hi, Natalie."

"I don't usually bother with warning shots, Stark." She rolled back over in bed, pulling the covers up over her shoulder as she turned away from him. "Get out before I get my Glock."

"Stark!" The door was suddenly pulled shut.

"Hey!" Rogers was grabbing him again, but by the collar this time as he was dragged back toward the kitchen. "What'd I tell you about the suit?"

"Why are you here?"

"What, a guy can't take advantage of a short stopover to visit his fellow superheroes who happen to waking up the neighbors four times a night? Congratulations, but the way. On the sex in general and also, I had heard that female black widows eat the dude's head after mating, but you're looking pleasantly undecapitated."

"Don't you dare…"

"Right, only nice things about Natalie or you'll take my head off yourself. No hints of sexual cannibalism intended. Coffee ready yet?"

Rogers crossed his arms over his bare chest and considered him sternly. "What are you really here for?"

Tony finally realized that the room looked so pink because he was still wearing his sunglasses. He tossed them on the counter and clicked open his briefcase. "Just thought you might want to behold, in person, before even the Internet gets its hands on photos I certainly won't leak, the glory that is the new officially licensed Avengers toy line!" He pulled out the first action figure with a flourish. "Of course, we have Iron Man. Check this out – the little faceplate on his helmet flips up and – look at that handsome face! They even got the goatee right."

Rogers was incredulous. "You brought dolls?"

"Action figures!" Tony corrected. "Check it out, you press the button on the back his repulsors light up! Neat, huh? Of course we've got Hulk, no accessories needed, Thor and his magic hammer, Hawkeye with his cupid's bow," he set the plastic figures on the counter as he went through them, "and look at Captain America and his shield that clips right to his arm. Sorry, but the helmet doesn't come off. Ah, and here we have Black Widow – just the two little guns, but I'm sure you'll be able to tell that we replicated the dimensions pretty faithfully. You've heard of the most common superpower, right?" He winked at the frowning Rogers. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Stark, I'm gonna ask one more time before I toss you out the window – why the hell are you here?"

Tony shrugged. "Well, as much fun as hearing rumors can be, confirming them can be even more interesting. I had my doubts when Legolas let it slip, but…"

"Wait, _Barton_ told you about me and Natasha?"

"Fair exchange for the new arrowheads I developed for him. There's one that…yeah, you don't look interested. Coffee yet?"

"No. Just…it is way too early for this."

"Okay, well, I can see when I'm not wanted. Keep the toys. Enjoy the Danishes." Tony didn't resist as Rogers pushed him toward the entryway. "Hey, look, before you kick me out, can I be serious for a second?"

"Can you, Stark?"

"Wordplay. Adorable. Really, though. I go to a lot of parties, right? Benefits, galas, openings, corporate crap. It's always tuxedo season. When I'm at these parties, there are so, so many gorgeous women there. I mean, it's like swimming in a pool where the water's been replaced by beautiful women. And you can bet who the main attraction for a lot of these lovely ladies is. So as I'm wading through the sea of all things perfectly feminine…"

"Are you going somewhere with this?"

"Hey, relax, old man. I'm just getting to the good part. Right, so as I was saying, I'll be at a party surrounded by beautiful women throwing themselves at me and then I'll look across the room. And you know what I see?"

"I'm sure it involves another beautiful woman who can't wait to pounce on you."

Tony paused. "Okay, that is technically true, but you're really ruining the moment here. Anyway, it's Pepper. I look over at Pepper and suddenly there's only one woman at the party worth looking at."

"And?"

"And what? That's a pretty big deal. She can make the whole world disappear. Just, y'know, not the kind of thing you should take for granted. That's it."

"Not advice you needed to give. But thanks." Rogers opened the door and ushered Tony into the hallway. "Maybe call ahead next time, okay, Stark?"

"Consider it done. Hey, you guys should come up to New York some weekend. Pepper'd be thrilled to double-date. We'll do dinner and a show, hey? You like musicals?"

"Goodbye, Stark."

Tony took it as a positive that Rogers closed the door quietly rather than slamming it in his face. He pushed his sunglasses on and walked down the hall whistling. A little messy, but mission accomplished. Relationship confirmed. Banner was _so_ losing their bet.

* * *

><p>Steve ensured that the door was locked after he heard Stark's footsteps receding and ambled back toward the bedroom. After a moment's consideration, he returned to the kitchen and retrieved two of the dolls. He kicked off the sweatpants he'd yanked on in response to the early visitor and dropped back into bed. Natasha immediately snuggled up to him. "What was that all about?"<p>

"Apparently, these." He held up the tiny Captain America and Black Widow figurines. "We're dolls now."

"Action figures!" To his surprise, she actually seemed excited as she grabbed the Black Widow. "This is really detailed. Look, it's got my belt buckle and two little Glocks and my catsuit and ooh!" she exclaimed as the tiny hands flashed blue for a moment. "Little Widow even has Bites!" She pressed the button on the back of the figure to produce the effect again. "Aw, she's even got green eyes. I think the hair's a little dark, but the style is actually pretty good for molded plastic." She put the guns in the figure's hands and posed it on his stomach. "Come on, Captain America! It's time to save the world!"

"Uh…" He held up his own figure, unsure of what to do. He was relieved of any responsibility for action when she grabbed it and started inspecting it.

"Ah, the super-patriotic version. Do you come with anything but your shield or…wait…" She let out a yelp of delight as the little plastic disc flew toward the foot of the bed. "Your arm is spring-loaded! Cool. Aw, but your helmet is painted on." She suddenly picked up both figures and held them face to face. "I'm not kissing you unless you take off your helmet, Captain." She suddenly dropped her voice to a lower register, "But, Little Widow, it's not my fault. SHIELD ordered the wrong size and now it's stuck on my big fat head."

"Seriously?"

"Come on, Steve." She kissed the corner of his mouth. "We're toys. It's appropriately surreal. Cap and Little Widow can go to the nightstand and work out their differences if you've got something more fun in mind."

He scooted over and spooned her as she turned to put the toys away. Nuzzling into her hair, he kissed the nape of her neck. "Barton told Stark about us."

"Then I'll hurt him. Later." She twisted around in his arms, burying her face in his neck and sucking gently at the pulse point by his throat.

She had just pulled her leg up along the side of his body when he made the mistake of saying, "Maybe Little Widow can beat up Tiny Hawkeye after breakfast."

All touching, licking and delicious pressure abruptly stopped. She looked up at him with wide eyes. "We got a whole set of Avengers?"

"Um…no?"

"You really are a terrible liar. Thirty seconds to convince me to stay in bed. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight…"

He had her completely persuaded that the Avengers dolls could wait by twenty-three. When he happened to glance over, the Cap on the nightstand, currently in his own tangle of limbs with Little Widow seemed to be giving him the thumbs up.


	13. Triskaidekaphobia

Steve nervously raised his hand and knocked, trying to balance a bouquet of flowers and a large fruit basket in his arms as he did so. He had thought about adding a bottle of wine as well, but didn't want to seem overbearing. The situation was awkward enough as it currently stood.

He was about to reorganize the load in his arms and try knocking again when the door opened a crack. "Hey. Hi. Um…"

"Just a second." The door closed for a moment and he heard the sound of the chain being withdrawn. It opened completely a moment later. For once, Sharon was wearing jeans and a sweater rather than scrubs. "Hi, Steve. Did you need help?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I…er, these are for you." He held out the flowers and basket.

She gingerly accepted the flowers and said, "Why don't you come in. I don't think I can carry fifty pounds of fruit on my own."

"Huh? Oh, right." He closed the door carefully behind him and followed her to the kitchen with what he now realized was probably the definition of overdoing it. He should have listened to Natasha, or at least taken more careful note of how far she was rolling her eyes when he picked out the dumb thing. He hefted it onto a clear spot on the kitchen island and decided it maxed out at forty-five pounds, tops. "I, um…how's it going?"

"Well, my neighbor that I usually only make small talk with in the hallway is bringing me unsolicited flowers and fruit baskets. You tell me."

"Yeah, those are a, um, y'know, an apology. For, um…" He rubbed the back of his neck as he searched for a way to delicately state his reasons. "You see, I was unaware that noise from my apartment was so easily overheard in your apartment and…"

"Oh, you're apologizing for keeping me up with your all-night sex-marathon last weekend?" He could feel the blood rushing to his face as all words failed him. This was not going as planned. He wished he had just left the flowers and fruit in front of the door, knocked and run. Sharon was calmly running the stems of the flowers under the faucet as she clipped the ends, totally unconcerned. "It wasn't really _that_ bad, just that I had an early shift on Sunday. You really don't have to worry about it. It happens. Not quite as long or often for us folks without super-soldier stamina, but…are you okay, Steve?"

"Huh?" He realized he was about to start breaking the granite and released his grip on the edge of the countertop. "Oh, yeah. Fine."

"No, you don't look so good. Please, sit down. I'll get you a glass of water."

"Um…I think I should just go. So, sorry about, um, _that_ and it won't happen again." He knocked over a stool by the counter, which he then had to pick up, slowing down his retreat.

"Oh. God. You're embarrassed. I'm sorry. I just forgot you're not the usual kind of guy who won't shut up about his, well…" She smiled kindly. "Really, you don't have to rush off. And you didn't have to bring me anything. Honestly, Steve." She pushed a glass of water across the counter. "You're a really nice guy. I hope she's…well, I hope she's good enough for you."

The glass paused halfway to his mouth. "Excuse me?"

"I don't mean to imply that she's not or anything like that, but you're just…I mean, I know you don't like to talk about it, but you're still Captain America. It's kind of hard to imagine any woman being good enough for you."

"Well, I don't think it's a question of being good enough. For me or anyone, really." He sipped his water thoughtfully. "It's just a matter of finding the person who's _right_. I thought I had once, but now…I can't imagine things working out any differently." Sharon was looking at him a little strangely, so he hurried to finish the water she'd given him. He set the glass down carefully on the counter and said, "Uh, there was one other thing I actually wanted to mention to you. I'm moving in with Natasha – uh, that's my girlfriend's name, Natasha – in the next week or two. Depends on our work schedule, but…you won't have to worry about thin walls anymore, anyway."

"Wow. Not wasting any time are you?" He paused in the entryway, feeling slightly confused. Sharon immediately stammered, "I mean… I'm sorry, I just didn't realize you two had been dating that long. This is so none of my business. But, hey, good for you. Congratulations. I'm sure you two will…be really happy."

"Well, there's never a guarantee of eternal happiness, but we'll be together. So that's close enough for me."

"Sure." She nodded and followed him to the door. "I guess I'll be seeing you, then."

"Right. And again, so sorry about disturbing you. I hope you like mangoes. I hear they're popular now."

"I'll miss having you around, Steve." To his surprise, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. "It's not every girl who gets to call Captain America her neighbor."

"I won't say anything if you still want to." He returned her smile and walked back down the hall with the feeling he was missing something.

Natasha didn't look away from her laptop when he opened his soon-to-be former apartment. "Did you impress the nurse with your fruit?"

"Just because you were right about that…" He forgot all about his conversation with Sharon as he sank onto couch beside Natasha and kissed her neck while she continued working. He was about to see if she was willing to put up with a potentially visible hickey when his eyes were drawn to the arm of the sofa. "Is that…?"

She swatted his hand away from where Little Widow was sitting. "Focus, Steve. You were doing so well."

He gladly dipped his head and continued his attention to the soft angle between her neck and shoulder.

* * *

><p>"Director Fury? Yes, this is Agent Thirteen. I just thought I should inform you that Captain Rogers is relocating. He intends to move in with…oh, you were already aware? I see. I assume that my current assignment is no longer necessary? Of course. Shall I report for debriefing and reassignment tomorrow? Yes, of course I'll avoid them. Yes, sir. I'll see you tomorrow morning, sir."<p>

* * *

><p>Sharon Carter circled the block a third time, finally seeing a parking spot she could probably squeeze into just down the street from her great-aunt's nursing home. She hadn't been visiting as often as she would have liked lately; her assignment with regard to protecting Rogers when he was in DC had gotten much more complicated when he had starting seeing Romanoff, with her uncanny ability for dropping off the grid at will. How did a SHIELD agent have a classified address? One that Carter couldn't access or even seem to follow them to in spite of her best efforts? Director Fury had been unconcerned about that development.<p>

It bothered Carter on more than just a professional level. She found Steve Rogers likable, genuine, noble and good. From what she'd heard around SHIELD and read in the few accessible files, Romanoff was a walking incarnation of death and would probably find the description flattering. Yin and Yang at their most extreme.

Carter greeted the familiar older woman at the front desk and made her way through the quiet hallways toward her aunt's room. Before entering, she checked the chart noting recent visitors; part of the ongoing treatment for her aunt's failing memory was reminding her of other visitors she had had recently and asking her what they'd talked about. She had to go back less than a week to find the name she was looking for. She shook her head. The guy was really too good to be true.

She smiled and stepped into the room, making sure to keep her voice cheerful. "Hello, Aunt Peggy! How are you feeling today?"

The elderly woman in the bed was so frail compared to the vivacious Aunt Peggy who had bicycled and climbed trees (in spite of admonitions regarding the potential for broken hips from the rest of the family) with Sharon during her childhood, but her eyes held some of their old sparkle, some days more than others. Today appeared to be a good day as she held out one hand to clasp Sharon's. "Oh, Sharon, dear. It always brightens my day when you come to see me."

The made small talk about the past and the surprisingly palatable food served in the home before Sharon broke down and said, "I saw that Steve Rogers was here a few days ago. Did you two have a nice visit?"

Aunt Peggy's eyes seemed to shine just a bit brighter. "Such a nice boy. He was always a nice boy, even before the serum. He wanted so badly to serve. Not for himself, you know, but for people who couldn't protect themselves. It would have been funny, that small boy so desperate to stand up for the weak, if he hadn't been so sincere."

"He has a girlfriend. Did he mention that?"

"He had a glow about him. Like an angel." Aunt Peggy's gaze was getting far away now. "He is an angel. She must be an angel too for him to love her."

"Lucifer was an angel, once upon a time."

"What was that, dear?"

"Oh, nothing. I just wonder if he's really in love or just, I don't know, lonely and settling for a woman who shows him more than a little attention for being Captain America."

"Have you met her?" The direct, no-nonsense Aunt Peggy of Sharon's youth was making an appearance, something she did less and less these days.

"Not personally. But I know her by reputation. I think he…I think he could do better. A lot better."

"Darling, I know you're taking it personally because of my history with Steve, but you need to let it go. He deserves a happy life, like I've been lucky enough to have." She squeezed Sharon's hand. "It's a funny old thing, isn't it? Life."

"That's one way of looking at it, Aunt Peggy."

In spite of a very positive visit, Sharon was feeling more downhearted than usual when she left the nursing home an hour later. She had just gotten into her car when her phone buzzed with a text. It was a general message from Director Fury to all agents with level four security and higher to report immediately. That couldn't be good. She pulled into the street, performed an illegal U-turn and sped toward the Triskelion.


	14. Death and All His Friends

Natasha spun a combat knife on the conference table as she, Steve, Clint, ten veteran members of STRIKE and several other high-ranking agents waited for the meeting to begin. Everyone was already dressed for deployment, missing only their larger firearms. Even Hill was carrying a small caliber pistol at her waist. This had to be big if Fury was sparing ammunition for administration.

Steve leaned toward her, whispering, "Why the rush to get us in if they're just gonna keep us in here cooling our heels?"

She was inclined to agree with him; the order to report had interrupted a moment in her kitchen that had promised to lead somewhere amazing. Of course, if the message had come five minutes later, it probably would have been ignored and…she smiled to herself. They definitely wouldn't have made it to SHIELD. She suddenly felt Steve's hand on her thigh under the table. She was going to have to work on not being so obvious around him in public. Still, she didn't push his hand off.

Feeling a less welcome movement to her left, Natasha snatched her knife just before Clint's fingers grazed the hilt. "Almost had it that time."

"I let you get that close."

"Yeah, well, bet you couldn't get mine, either." He reached back toward his hidden sheath, only to discover it was empty. "Tasha!"

She pulled the knife from behind her thigh holster. "Looking for this?"

"Give it. I need that."

"Like you would even know what to do with it."

"Oh, that how it is?" He pulled another knife as he stood. "Then let's go. Martinez, start a pool."

Money was hitting the table from the STRIKE commandos, in spite of the fact that Natasha hadn't been able to move into the open area by the table due to Steve's grip on her belt. "Steve, let go. The odds are way up on me."

"Just let them handle it, Captain." Natasha's attention was briefly turned to where Hill was cleaning under her fingernails with her own fairly impressive combat knife. "This is what happens when you put bored assassins in a room together. They can sit still for days in a sniper nest, but put them in a conference room and…yeah."

Natasha fell backwards into Steve's lap for a moment as Clint feinted forward. She lunged forward, using her momentum to swing around a chair and nearly connected with a roundhouse kick to his head. She pirouetted neatly as she landed, already prepared for the next strike. Clint didn't disappoint, aiming a shot at her ribs that would have hurt, had it landed.

In the background, she heard Steve complain, "You're just going to let this…"

"I find it best not to involve myself," Hill replied calmly. "And here's thirty on Romanoff."

Clint seemed to take Hill's bet as a personal insult and redoubled his intensity. There were encouraging shouts from the STRIKE team as the odds shifted back and forth. Natasha was just setting up for a finishing move when Fury appeared in the doorway. "People! How many times to I have to tell you? All bloodsports are confined to the training rooms! Now sit down and shut up!"

There was a round of grumbling as money was redistributed. Natasha handed Clint his knife back with a smirk, which he returned. "I almost had you."

"You wish, Birdbrain." She reached over to Steve and squeezed his hand for reassurance, but he seemed a little stunned by the bizarre turn of events to reply. She shrugged and glanced at the files being downloaded to her tablet in rapid succession.

Fury took his spot beside the main screen at the head of the conference table. "I apologize for keeping everyone waiting, but we needed certain confirmations before we could proceed with the briefing." A map of central Asia appeared, Kazakhstan highlighted. "We've been tracking a group for months. They call themselves Kazakh rebels, fighting to keep Russian influence out of Kazakhstan. They claim to have in their possession three Soviet-era intercontinental ballistic missiles. Up until this week, they've been pretty standard bluster with the occasional demonstration of supposed intent."

An image of small-scale destruction flashed onscreen. "Two car-bombs in Almaty and fourteen casualties three weeks ago, followed by a manifesto of sorts."

Natasha scrolled back from the translation to the original document. "This doesn't make sense."

"Tell me about it," Rumlow agreed. "'We will no longer stand the fishy whips of the oppressors.' What the hell is a fishy whip?"

"Not that," though Natasha would readily admit someone on SHIELD's translation team had probably sent the document through a program rather than doing it properly.

"You find something weirder? Demands for cheaper rates on mail-order brides or something?"

"Not exactly." She scowled at Rumlow before turning back to Fury. "This is in Russian. Why would a supposedly militantly Kazakh group not use their own language?"

"Turns out the whips aren't the only thing that's fishy." The picture changed. Natasha was unable to suppress a groan as she recognized the satellite image. Steve glanced at her and she shook her head slightly. She had the feeling she was going to be providing details for the entire room anyway. Fury was already looking in her direction expectantly. "These supposed Kazakhs contacted SHIELD directly with a threat several hours ago, claiming to have obtained a nuclear payload for their ICBMs from these coordinates. Romanoff? You recognize the place, I assume?"

"Semipalatinsk-21."

"A few more details would be appreciated."

"It was the Soviet Union's equivalent of Los Alamos, but it's been decommissioned for years. The buildings are either destroyed or derelict and any remaining nuclear material has been sealed in the test sites on the steppe closer to the mountains. There's nothing there a terrorist group would want or be able to use."

"Mm hmm. And underneath?"

She swallowed hard. "I have no idea how many of the subterranean structures are still useable or why anyone would want to go into them."

"But you've been there?"

She frowned. "Not recently." _And never under the auspices of SHIELD_, she didn't add. The tunnels, vaults and laboratories beneath the crumbling main complex had been a popular KGB training site, developed after its official dissolution. Though it wasn't the most frequent location, they had played The Game there more times than she cared to remember.

Fury pulled her out of her unpleasant memories. "Can you find your way around the place or not?"

"I probably couldn't draw you an accurate map, but I don't think it should present a problem once I'm there, assuming you're sending us in."

"Three teams. Barton up top, Rogers on the ground, Romanoff underneath. Hill will be coordinating air support. Any questions before you get the chance to go over the rest of your briefing packets?"

Natasha felt something nagging at the back of her mind. "What was the exact threat?"

Fury called up another screen, displaying the message. "This came through as a text only file through what should have been a secure network."

"Do we have the original and not the translation?"

"This is the original. They sent it in English."

She scanned the short message several times, getting stuck on the last line on each reading. _The answers will be discovered by any one game enough to enter the tunnels._ Any _one_. The Game. Fucking hell.

Fury appeared to be getting impatient. "Any other questions."

"This is a trap, sir."

"Didn't sound like a question, Romanoff."

"It wasn't. I don't suppose it changes anything."

"Read the rest of the material and plan accordingly. We've wasted enough time. Wheels up in twenty."

Natasha ignored Clint's questioning look and Steve's concerned hand on her shoulder as she stood from the conference table. "I'll meet you in the hangar." She strode purposefully down the hall and into the ladies room at the end. There was no way to switch off the lights that came on automatically when she entered. The cold water she splashed on her face was not as helpful as she had hoped it would be. Forgetting herself for a moment, she stared at her dripping reflection.

_It's all coming back, Natalia. And just as you were settling in with your new love. How ironic._ Her fist hit the mirror, turning it to shards that clattered down around her arm into the sink. "I don't think irony is the word," she muttered.

Her skewed reflection in the neighboring mirror replied, _Wash all you want, but everyone is going to find out what you did in the tunnels at Semipalatinsk. Then it's only a matter of time before the rest comes to light._

She shattered that mirror and the other four in the line along the wall for good measure. She was slightly breathless as she turned and leaned against the last sink. She just needed to get it together. Closing her eyes, she tried to breathe deeply. The sound of the door opening was certainly no help. She didn't open her eyes, saying, "Steve, I said I'd be downstairs in a few minutes."

"Which is where he's waiting for you." Natasha's eyes shot open when Hill spoke. "Actually, I think you might be lucky it's me. I remember what you were like when you first came to SHIELD. No mirror was safe." She leaned against the sink beside Natasha. "I don't suppose it would do much good to ask what's wrong."

To her own surprise, Natasha asked, "How bad was I when I first got here?"

"Fury finally signed off on the order to convert the Triskelion to biometrics so we would know immediately if someone in your vicinity died so we could send the appropriate response team. It's been useful in hundreds of other ways of course, but…that was the deciding factor." Natasha could feel Hill's gaze on her, searching. "You've come a long way since then."

"Oh?" She looked along the wall of shattered mirrors. "Hard to see that at the moment."

Hill was smart enough not to laugh. After a few moments, she asked, "What exactly was the unofficial KGB doing at Semipalatinsk?"

"Training, mostly. Ostensibly. They called it The Game. It was a way to kill off political prisoners while training agents. They would throw a group of prisoners into the tunnels at Semipalatinsk, or a site in the mountains or forests in Siberia or… then they would send us in, in a group or alone. I was about ten my first time in the tunnels. Pavel, Vasily and I. Sometimes they would arm the prisoners to add to the challenge, or the prisoners would find ways to defend themselves. The idea was that killing got easier every time you did it. You got better, more ruthless, more effective."

"Sounds awful."

"I try not to think about it," Natasha admitted, with no idea why she was saying these things to Hill. She was shocked a moment later when Hill took her hand. She was about to make an uneasy joke when Hill picked a thin shard of glass from between her knuckles. "Uh, thanks."

"Sorry, I saw it and it was bugging me."

"Strange. I didn't even feel it." She rubbed the spot where a small rosette of blood was blooming and leeching into her glove. "Barton had the drop on me. The day he came to kill me. He could have. Maybe he should have."

"But he's glad he didn't. Not to mention Fury. Lots of people at SHIELD owe you, not to mention all the people you've saved without their knowledge, directly and indirectly. And then there's Rogers, of course. Speaking of whom…"

"Right, the hangar." Natasha found herself riding the elevator, still alone with Hill. Keeping her eyes fixed on the doors, she stated, "If Barton ever hears about this, I'll know it came from you."

Hill nodded curtly. "Noted."

"And thank you."

"We all have our moments, Romanoff. We can afford to replace a few mirrors if that's what it takes to get you focused for the mission. Just promise me that you can pull yourself out if necessary."

"That's not something you have to ask, Agent Hill."

"I know. But it's a strange day." She gave Natasha a final nod as they arrived at the hangar and walked toward Fury.

Natasha boarded the quinjet ahead of Steve and Clint, who had been waiting for her by the ramp. The first hour of the flight was quiet as they went over the information on their tablets. As the minutes ticked past, Natasha was more and more convinced they were walking into a trap, though it was hard to judge who was setting her up as the intended prey.

* * *

><p>Natasha turned for one last look at Steve's receding back and saw that he was looking back at her as well. They shared a brief smile before turning away to complete their objectives. Atop one of the higher structures with a sniper team, Clint had already reported movement on the ground east of their current position. Steve and his STRIKE commandos were headed in that direction while she and her team made for the building containing the tunnel entrance. There were other potential access points, but none accessible without a lot of effort and some high explosives.<p>

The building at the center of the complex was fairly unimpressive, belying its role in Semipalatinsk's more recent history. Pushing the front door open, she turned back to her team. "Step where I step, don't touch the walls." She put herself on point, allowing Rumlow to position the rest of the men as they made their way, unimpeded, to their destination. She had followed this exact path on so many occasions that she stepped over potential pitfalls without looking. It took less than five minutes to reach the control room. They would be relatively safe here if…she confirmed that the door to the tunnels was sealed from the outside.

"Okay, what now?" Rumlow asked.

"Give me a few minutes. Look for anything out of place in the meantime." Although she had checked and rechecked all her gear on the jet, she set it out on a bare table for a final inspection. Flashlights, night-vision and heat sensors had all been banned in The Game, but she wasn't playing anymore. Hell, playing was the wrong word for what she'd been doing then.

Rumlow suddenly piped up, "What are these all about? High scores?"

Natasha glanced at the large charts on the walls. "Yes."

"I guessing Pac-Man isn't involved."

She didn't look again, snapping the final clips into her weapons. "Most kills in an hour, in a day, on-target percentage, cumulative kills…"

"And these are names?"

"Does it really matter, Rumlow?"

"No, I'm just thinking this Hatanber Pomahoba looks like a serious badass. Top of the heap in every category." She did look up this time and adjusted her thinking to someone who couldn't read Russian. Наталья Романова was indeed the leader in every category. "Hope he's not waiting down there for us."

"For me. It's not safe for the rest of you in the tunnels. I've been down there before. I'll do a quick sweep, see if there's anything of interest to SHIELD and meet you back here in a ninety minutes. Think you can hold this position that long?"

Rumlow looked as if he were going to argue for a moment, but nodded and started setting his men in position. "Ninety minutes, Romanoff."

She pushed back the heavy metal bar and unlatched the door. It swung down on a stairway that descended into blackness. "Shoot anyone who comes out of this door that isn't me."

Natasha Romanoff stepped down the first few stairs and turned to carefully secure the door behind her, cutting off all daylight; Наталья Романова continued down the stairs in the familiar darkness.


	15. Demons

Наталья knelt at the base of the stairs, reaching out with her left hand until her fingers encountered a smooth, rounded object near the wall. It was the skull of a ten year old boy with a hole big enough to accommodate a grown man's thumb in the center of the forehead. During their first Game at Semipalatinsk, Наталья, Василий and Павел had been sent down to make their first kills in the dark – three children versus three hardened 'political' prisoners. Павел had become frightened and run back to the entrance. There he remained as a reminder to all who passed that cowardice was not tolerated. Василий had cried on seeing the body of his dead friend and been beaten for his show of emotion. Наталья had stood stoically as her name had been added to one of the leaderboards, having taken four shots that resulted in three kills. She knew now who the braver of them had been and brushed away a tear. "Sleep soundly, Павел." Having completed her genuflection, she stood and walked further into the darkness.

It was the first skeleton to be encountered, but the tunnels were full of bones and very well-fed rats. Corpses rarely had the chance to putrefy here, except on the rare occasions when the work of the KGB outstripped that of the rodents. She had been here one or two of those times. Spent shell casings occasionally bounced off her boots, clattering away across concrete floors into the blackness. Although she had plenty of ways to see her way through this labyrinth, the lens of the past appeared as if it might be the most helpful. Her heel crunched down on what felt like a set of phalanges. She continued on without a thought. If it wasn't part of her memory, it didn't need to exist.

Her next turn brought her into the radiation laboratory. It had been a chamber of horrors prior to its inclusion as part of The Game, used as a testing facility for the effects of high-dose radiation on live humans. The radiation chambers were sealed and the bodies of the test subject long gone by the time she had arrived, but a smell lingered in the air. She had never tried to identify it as something other than the smell of atomic death.

In the middle of the room was Оксана, killed by a blow to the side of the head by a brick wielded by a prisoner. She had been turning to say something gossipy to Наталья, not paying attention to their surroundings when the desperate man had vaulted a table and struck her. Наталья had shot the prisoner and collected the weapons and personal possessions from her friend's body, as per procedure. When she had turned everything over to the instructors at the end of the day, the relationship between Оксана and Василий had come to light when a locket containing a picture and love note had been discovered. Василий had been removed from the program, sent to hard labor in Siberia at only sixteen. They had been classmates since Наталья could remember. More importantly, it had been the first time she had believed in love.

Long minutes and dozens of half-remembered prisoners later, she came to an intersection. Left was a dead end at a cooling vent in about a hundred meters. It was where she had lost her virginity at fourteen, not willingly. Overexcited and running on an adrenalin high, Анатолий, three years her senior and twice as heavy had forced her to the floor, pinning her arms beneath her with his weight. Afterward, when he had made the mistake of relaxing, she had freed an arm and stabbed so hard and deep into his neck that she hadn't been able to pull out the knife lodged in his spinal column. She had exited the tunnels to cheers of 'черная вдова' and a spot atop the daily leaderboard she had never relinquished. It appeared that the nickname wasn't the only thing that remained. She suspected the knife would be there, still embedded in the bones, should she care to look. There was no need to linger. She took the right hand passage.

She was beneath the main concourse of the facility now, the width of the passage reflecting that of the road above, passing by doors that led to large empty rooms under warehouses and various outbuildings – corpse pits, containing the remains of unrecorded numbers of prisoners. If they were never acknowledged, they may have never existed. The passages would have been clogged with them if clean-up teams hadn't come through at regular intervals to consign the bodies to the designated underground spaces. That may have been one of the cruelest tortures carried out on the prisoners; all had been told they could earn their freedom by defeating the KGB agents. All were currently tangled among the bones of their compatriots or enemies or strangers.

Наталья slowed her pace as she passed the corpse pits. She was coming to one of the more complicated sections of the labyrinth, the section that had claimed the lives of more agents in training than any other. The power plant announced its presence with the skeleton of Константин, a thirteen year old who had died before her first Game here, the victim of an ambush on three sides by a particularly wily group of South Ossetians. Their bodies were hung from pipes further into the maze. She could remember a harrowing day and night spent here with Дарья, sharpening human bones into weapons after being sent into the tunnels completely unarmed against twenty prisoners. She had once again emerged with elevated status. Дарья was still down here somewhere, her body as forgotten as her name. Наталья could still hear her screams for help as she had been killed by the ruthless men who would become victims themselves over the next few hours. It had shot her to the top of the cumulative kill list, the youngest ever to hold the position at just seventeen.

She cautiously picked out the fastest route through the defunct gas mains and power lines, toward a light that shouldn't have been there. The only other room at this end of the complex was a long, low-ceilinged room beneath the so-called sciences building above, now just a ruin. She and Тимофей had created a crossfire in the room as part of their final test at eighteen, though she had already compiled an impressive résumé of wetwork in the field by then. As far as she knew, the twenty-two bodies had been left where they had fallen, including that of Тимофей, who had compromised his own position with an early celebration of victory.

Although in violation of the rules of The Game, she held up her rifle and turned on the heat-sensing scope. There was one target at the far end of the room. If she stepped into the doorway, she might see him, but she would also risk revealing herself. She was feeling exposed enough after her walk through the tunnels.

"I don't ever remember you being shy, Natalia," a voice suddenly called, echoing through the otherwise empty tunnels.

She slung her rifle over her shoulder and stepped into the room. "Ivritsky. Shouldn't you be dead?"

"Says the Russian agent of American power. Please, let us speak as civilized people."

In spite of herself, Natasha walked toward the table set neatly for coffee in the center of the room as General Sergei Trofimovich Ivritsky approached from the opposite end.

* * *

><p>Steve ducked behind the crumbling wall behind which he and three of his teammates had taken cover. The first hour or so after the drop had been quiet, only to erupt into an all-out firefight with the Kazakhs. Or terrorists. Or…bad guys. Steve was getting really tired of having to identify the people shooting at him as someone other than 'the bad guys.' After confirming the rest of his team was safe, he looked up toward the roofs. On cue, an arrow flew toward the enemy position. He didn't need a clear view to know it had found its target. Instead, he spoke into his communicator, "Barton, you got eyes on us?"<p>

"Affirmative, Cap. You can flank the guys firing on your secondary position if you and your three swing around behind the water towers."

"Copy that."

They had just completed the necessary maneuver when his earpiece crackled with Hill's voice, "All teams take cover. ICBMs spotted half a click from your position and we are coming in hot."

Steve covered his head with his shield as the quinjets suddenly screamed overhead, followed almost immediately by a ground-shaking explosion. Hill was on again as his hearing came back, "Missiles and launch platforms destroyed. Finish up with whatever you're doing. Tactical retreat is now in effect."

Steve waved his team forward to cut off the escape of the stunned bad guys. With the situation firmly under control now, he raised his communicator and made the transmission that had been threatening to burst from him for over an hour, "N…Romanoff, what's your position?"

It was Rumlow who answered, "We're still waiting on her, Cap. Twenty more minutes."

"Waiting? I don't understand, where is she?"

"Tunnels. Told us to hold the entrance and not to follow. Been quiet here ever since."

"And you just let her go?"

"She was honcho on this op. I figured she knew what she was doing."

"I'll be at your position in five minutes."

"I'll send someone out to bring you in. The whole place outside the room we're in is booby trapped."

"Copy." Steve fought the urge to put his fist through the nearest wall. Instead, he called out, "Isaacs! You've got the ground team! Make sure everyone makes it to the exfil point!"

"Sir! Where are you going?"

"I'm providing support for Romanoff and Rumlow's team. Tell them we may need a half hour."

The dark-haired commando saluted. "Best of luck, sir."

Steve saluted back and took off at a run. Barton's voice was a soft hiss in his ear, "Get her out of there, Cap." He tried to increase his pace, but found that he was already at a dead sprint toward the central command building.

* * *

><p>"So…our lost lamb has returned to the fold."<p>

Natasha fiddled with the cup and saucer in front of her. "I was unaware that reconciliations were now performed with untouched coffee and pistols aimed under the table."

Ivritsky held his hands up. "As you can see, I am quite enjoying my coffee and hold no weapon. It is a shame you do not trust me after all we have been through."

"All this? I'm flattered you would go to the trouble, but a simple phone call would have gotten the same results."

"You would have returned to us with a treasure trove of intelligence, having gloriously completed your infiltration of SHIELD?"

She tipped over her full coffee cup, allowing the stain to spread over the white cloth on the table. "I would have told you to fuck off and reminded you I'd defected."

"Can you ever truly leave this behind, Natalia? Did you not pause over the bodies of your former friends, admire your name on the wall, still the best we have ever trained?"

She ignored the question. She had obviously allowed herself to get too wrapped up in the past to notice prying eyes. Or perhaps just remote cameras. She pressed down on the delicate bone china of the saucer, shattering it. "You're not using this facility anymore."

"Sadly, no. The international crossing has become too fraught with issues for this to remain a viable training site. It has been simpler to relocate training operations. A true shame. You must admit this place is…memorable, yes?"

"That's nothing to be proud of."

"I am always proud of the things I have made. I am proud of my organization. I am proud of my agents. There was a time you were my crown jewel. Now, you obey the Americans like a trained dog, destroying what I have made."

"What are you…"

"The Golden Triangle was a hefty source of income for my backers. First, the Americans invade Afghanistan, interrupting one revenue stream, then you appear to disrupt another just last month."

She laughed. "You're funding the KGB with opium these days? I wasn't aware you'd sunk so low. The oligarchs lose all interest in espionage and assassination when it didn't prove as profitable as you'd led them to believe?"

"Let me make this very simple for you, Natalia. You return to our service or you and all your American friends die here today. You may be ready to die, but can you say the same for your lover Barton?"

"Barton?" She withheld the surprise from her tone. Poor intelligence and desperation were not the KGB that had raised her.

"You have been living with him since you, hm, defected, have you not? You own a home together?"

She sighed. This was just pointless posturing and her ninety minute window was rapidly approaching. "If it's all the same to you, Ivritsky, I'm just going to shoot you now and leave."

"I would not do that if I were you, Natalia." He unbuttoned his shirt as he spoke, revealing a monitor strapped around his chest. "As you can see, my vital signs are being monitored from above and any change in…"

She raised her gun and fired, hitting him between the eyes. "Nice try, but radio signals don't penetrate in the tunnels."

"Perhaps not," an unfamiliar voice behind her said, prompting her to dive for cover as the crash of automatic weapons' fire echoed through the room. "You are playing The Game one more time, Natalia Romanova, but this time, you are the hunted."

* * *

><p>Steve could both feel and not feel the restraining arms of several STRIKE commandos on him as he held Rumlow off the floor by the straps of his vest in the middle of the room. "What the hell do you mean, she told you to just wait here while she went into the tunnels? Do you have any idea what's down there?"<p>

Although he was beginning to turn an unhealthy shade of purple, Rumlow managed to sputter, "Do you?"

"No, but I sure as hell wouldn't risk the life of…"

"Hatanber Pomahoba!"Steve was about to start shaking Rumlow when the man held up a small tablet. Steve dropped him immediately, catching the tablet before it hit the floor. He coughed a few times, waving off the STRIKE team as he did so. "The name. The one on top of all the leaderboards she said were for most kills, best targeting, kills in a day, whatever else. I wanted to know if the guy was someone we had to worry about. The translation…look at what…" Rumlow dissolved in another coughing fit.

Steve looked from the name on the wall – Наталья Романова – to the translation on the tablet. Natalia Romanova. Natalia Romanova repeated at the top of every column beside numbers that couldn't be good. Even if she wasn't that person anymore, even though she was _his_ Natasha…

There was a harsh clang and all weapons were pointed in the direction of a hole in the floor. Painfully slowly, a figure emerged from a haze of smoke. Guns slowly angled toward the floor as Natasha pulled the door closed behind her and slammed a bar over it to seal it. She didn't speak or even look around, walking toward one of the lists on the wall, dragging a chair with her from somewhere along the way. She stepped slowly onto the chair, pulling a marker from somewhere on her belt. She wrote '+33' after the highest number associated with her name.

Steve caught her as she fell from the chair into his arms a moment later.

* * *

><p>Just because I know I would be annoyed if an author put a whole bunch of words I couldn't read in a story and then was all, "Pssht, Google it, m-fer!," here's a handy little guide to the Russian names in the first part of the above chapter. I hope it worked as a stylistic choice. You can yell at me in annoyance if it didn't, or for whatever.<p>

Наталья – Natalia

Василий - Vasily

Павел – Pavel

Оксана – Oksana

Анатолий – Anatoly

черная вдова – Black Widow

Константин – Konstantin

Дарья – Darya

Тимофей - Timofei


	16. Stand By Me

Natasha fought her emotions back as the STRIKE team made its way out of the Semipalatinsk complex onto the open steppe. She was able to return a steady stream of fire that accompanied their retreat, augmented by the occasional enemy IED. She knew she had dodged a major injury by just a few steps when someone behind her screamed. She shoved Steve backward. "Go. Help. I can make it. It's just my arm," she lied, cradling her right arm where the bullet had hit her inner elbow in the tunnels. She could feel it grinding against the joint with every movement, but it was better that than nerve pain. Her real concern was the wound he had yet to notice; the shrapnel she'd taken in the back was a minor concern, sharp, but not yet impinging on anything vital. Yet.

Steve reluctantly peeled away from her side, moving toward the sound of human suffering, as he always would. It was one of the many reasons she loved him – one of the many reasons he deserved something better than her. Getting shot would feel pleasant compared to the pain of giving him up. This was hardly the time to consider how to handle that beast, though. She continued to move toward the lights in the clearing that could only be a quinjet. Hill's frantic shouts urging her up the ramp proved more useful than any bullets following her. She strapped herself into a seat near the front as the injured members of STRIKE were carried into the rear of the jet as they prepared for takeoff.

Natasha allowed her head to drop back against the hull as she tried not to think about her most recent experience playing The Game. The men sent against her had had no idea of what to expect, setting up predictable firing points and poorly thought out ambushes. They were a disgrace to the KGB she had left, if she allowed herself to consider such a thing.

Hill sat beside her after giving a final set of instructions to the pilots after takeoff. "We're approved for a landing at Ramstein on arrival, or the helipad at Landstuhl, as our case might merit."

Natasha nodded, holding her arm tightly. "Clint?"

"He's on another jet. No casualties on the sniper team , so they're headed straight back to DC."

"Good." She glanced toward the back of the jet, where Steve was holding down a man being field treated for a serious leg wound – stepped on an IED. "It was…it was a stupid trap. They sent a low level general to try and get me back on their side. And they're funding themselves with opium trafficking. It doesn't make sense."

"It makes sense if the new KGB is desperate." She felt Hill stretching her right arm out painfully. Gauze was being pressed into the angle of her elbow. "Makes more sense if you consider they were trying to get back the best they ever had, right?"

It probably hadn't been intended as a backhanded compliment, but it stung. "They committed too many men, too many resources for one person. It's just not logical." Natasha could feel the clouds pushing into her mind. "If I could find a real-life place that made me feel like Tiffany's, I would buy some furniture and give the cat a name."

"You have a cat?"

"Hm?"

"Did you and Rogers get a cat?"

The fog lifted for a moment. "Why the hell would we get a cat? He pretends to be allergic and I just don't like them. They look at you like they know something. Besides, he's going to leave me soon." Natasha leaned forward and hugged her knees as Hill finished securing the bandage on her elbow. "We should stop at McDonalds or something. I can't remember the last time I ate."

"I don't think we can take the quinjet through a drive-through and Rogers is never going to leave you, no matter what anyone found out about you back there. I think we've got some PowerBars if you want…whose blood is that?"

"Martinez has a serious leg wound," she murmured.

"Which doesn't explain the blood pool around your boots." She felt Hill grasp her chin and turn her head. "Where, Romanoff?"

"It's nothing. Just some shrapnel in the back. I think it moved wrong at some point." She groaned as Hill forced her to lean over further.

"Jesus Christ!"

Natasha tried to wave her off. "It's really not…"

"Rogers!"

"I'm a little busy, Hill."

"NOW, Rogers!"

Natasha started to feel hazy again in Steve's arms. "You have really pretty blue eyes…"

* * *

><p>Hill had already grabbed the last first-aid kit and pulled on a pair of gloves when Rogers wrapped his arms around Romanoff. "Turn her over."<p>

"She's…"

Hill hit the emergency release on Romanoff's straps, dropping her into Rogers' arms completely. It looked like an awkward position, with him kneeling on the floor, Romanoff kind of draped over him, but Hill needed a clear view of her back. "Just hold her there," she commanded, knowing Rogers could probably maintain the position indefinitely. She tried to clean the field with gauze, but there was too much blood. "Shit. I can't see anything." She reached into the bag and felt around until she found what she wanted. "Okay, I've got the saline. Rogers, I need you to look while I flush."

Romanoff hissed as Hill cleaned the wound. "Was it spurting or oozing?"

Rogers had paled to an unnatural shade as he watched over Romanoff's shoulder. "I…"

"Her life depends on the answer, Rogers!"

"Oozing, I think."

"Okay. Slow bleed. Probably venous. Hold her tight. I'm going to flush it again." In spite of the nearly clean field, Hill still couldn't see the source of the bleed. Maintaining her sense of control, she declared, "We need to clamp it."

"Clamp what? With what?"

Hill didn't flinch before inserting her fingers into the wound. Oh, God, it was deep. "Damn it. I can't feel anything." She quickly withdrew her hand and snapped off the glove before plunging her fingers in again. Okay. There was something sharp, and a tube-like thing that was…ugh. "I think…I think I've got it. Saline, Rogers."

Rogers nervously squeezed the bag into Romanoff's wound, briefly disclosing Hill's fingers disappearing into the viscera, with very little blood oozing around them. "Okay, I think I've got the bleed under control."

"And?"

She met Rodgers' anxious gaze, trying to project a calm she didn't feel. "We're headed to Germany, right?"

"Yeah." A different kind of shock dawned on Rogers' face. "So you're just going to…keep your hand in there and hold it for an hour?"

"If that's what it takes."

They were half an hour out, still in the same position, when Hill said, "_Breakfast at Tiffany's._ It's a movie with Audrey Hepburn. Classic."

Rogers nodded. "She's reading the book. I remember it on her nightstand. She said there was a movie, but we haven't watched it yet."

"You will."

"On the list, right, Nat?" He buried his nose in her hair when she didn't respond. Hill didn't change her grip on whatever she was holding inside Romanoff's chest. Or abdomen. It was hard to tell from this angle. All Hill really knew was that it was extremely important not to let go, a fact confirmed by the surgeons when they landed on the roof at Landstuhl. Hill wasn't dismissed until they were in the OR, at which point she was forcibly ejected.

* * *

><p>Steve found it hard to get comfortable with pacing, given his previous experiences in Germany. He'd been told the American surgeons stationed at LRMC were among the best in the world, but it was hard to trust anybody when Natasha's life was in the balance. He simply couldn't accept that the potential to lose the love of his life existed. Pacing was the least intrusive activity he could think of engaging in; if he didn't hear some good news soon he would start doing push-ups, followed by sit-ups, followed by jumping jacks, followed by… "Hill!"<p>

"Rogers, don't!" He realized she was holding out two cups of coffee a moment before crushing her in an embrace.

"Oh. Thanks."

"I brought creamer and sugar because I don't know how you take it…"

He suddenly realized it wasn't normal to inhale an entire cup of coffee in a single sip. He added his usual two creams and a sugar to the remaining half-cup with shaking hands. "I…I'm still waiting to hear about…Natasha." He hated how her name stuck in his throat. "Have you heard anything about Martinez and Smyth yet?"

"Well, Smyth is already in recovery. Gut wound. Bloody, with the risk of sepsis, but they think he'll pull through just fine with the right antibiotics. Martinez…he'll be well taken care of. SHIELD has a strong relationship with the top prosthetic suppliers, and Stark Industries is on the cutting edge, so…"

"So he's losing his leg," Steve concluded.

"With all the damage, there was nothing else they could do. His quality of life will be…"

"Yeah, I've heard all about that."

"It's not like it used to be, Rogers. Martinez will go home a hero, but not one anyone will pity. He has a wife who loves him. He'll recover and live a normal life."

Steve squeezed his fist, hard. "I'd like to do whatever I can to help her. To help them."

"SHIELD will…"

"I said…"

"I know what you said, Rogers, but you can't help them all and you're not using Martinez as a distraction. Make all the contributions you want to Wounded Warrior later, but focus on her for now."

He leaned his forehead against the wall, behind which, somewhere, was the OR where Natasha was fighting a battle he couldn't help her win. "I know it's wrong that I don't really care about anybody but Natasha right now, but how can I think about…what if she…?"

"You really love her."

"Everyone says that like it's so unbelievable."

"Well, it can be a little tough to reconcile who Agent Romanoff used to be with who she is now."

"Yeah, I saw her old records posted above the tunnels. KGB's best of the best."

"I was actually referring to what she was like when she first joined SHIELD."

Steve turned away from the wall. "You didn't like her."

"She's changed a lot since then. But no. I thought Barton was nuts for not killing her and Fury was even crazier for thinking SHIELD could turn her into an asset. Also, she scared the hell out of me. Still does, but in a good way." She took a sip from her coffee. "She's worried about losing you."

"She told you that?"

"I don't think she realized what she was saying, shock was setting in. She said you would leave her over this."

"Never."

"I'm not the one you'll have to convince, Rogers." After a few more sips of coffee, Hill nodded as if she'd made a decision. "She'll be all right."

She had just offered to go buy a third round of coffee when a man in scrubs came to speak to them.

* * *

><p>Steve couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten when the orderly at Landstuhl offered him his unconscious girlfriend's meal, just that she was his second favorite person in the entire world at the time. The chicken parm and green beans had revived him, and the apple crisp had given him a lift he hadn't felt in…days, probably. Regardless, he held onto Natasha's hand as he ate. Nothing could move him from her side. The eager nurses and CNAs at the hospital with crushes on Captain America had learned quickly. The doctors were a little slower, but they didn't come around as often. Still, they had assured him that the tear in her inferior vena cava had been pinched off in time and repaired; despite the continued transfusions, she was no longer in any danger of bleeding out. Her internal wounds were healing and the one on her right arm was superficial in comparison.<p>

Pushing the empty tray away, he leaned closer to her face. "Natasha?"

"Mnn."

It was the best he'd gotten since she'd passed out on him in the jet during the trip to the hospital, so he pushed, "It's me, Steve. Nat, please just let me know you can hear me."

"Leave me 'lone. Sleepy," she mumbled, squeezing his hand in response to his pressure.

The medical staff had rushed the room a moment later in response to her increased vitals, but he had her to himself not long afterward. She was still a little out of it, but at least she was awake. He gently cupped her cheek in his hand. "Hey. I've missed you."

She blinked at him several times. "How long have I been out?"

"Uh, well we got here early this morning and you were in surgery for a few hours after that and…well, it's just after seven now, so…um, all day."

"Really? That's it?"

"Why?"

"Because you're smiling like you haven't seen me in weeks."

He felt his grin involuntarily stretch wider. "Must be 'cause I love you so much."

"Steve, have you been paying attention?" She pushed his hand off her face weakly. "I murdered thirty-three people yesterday. And I think recorded it like I was still…like I'm still…you should go."

"You're not going to scare me off. And you didn't murder anyone. You were defending yourself. Look, I know that place brought up a lot of bad memories for you…"

"Don't pretend you know."

"Fine, but don't push me away because of the past. There is nothing you could tell me that would make me want to leave you or love you less than I do."

He held her gaze with his own until she looked away. "Will you at least go take a shower and get a good night's sleep somewhere?"

"I can do that." He stood and leaned over to kiss her forehead. "I love you."

"I know, Steve. This would be so much easier if we didn't…"

"Stop. You're still getting over anesthesia and you're on a cocktail of drugs. Let's not talk about anything for now, okay? I'll be back in the morning."

As he reluctantly left the hospital, he tried not to think about the way she had looked at him just before he had walked out of her room.

* * *

><p>Natasha woke with a start, then grimaced as she felt the pull of her stitches.<p>

"Hey, hey. Relax."

It took her a moment to recognize her visitor. "Hill. What are you doing here? It's…dark out."

"It's about 0400. I have to get back to DC to give Fury the mission rundown, among other things. I just thought I'd stop in to check on you before I left."

"Oh."

"Look, I know this isn't any of my business, but…you and Rogers. You're good together. And you love each other. Don't deny it. And don't let your past get in the way of that. Don't let _anything_ get in the way of that. This work just sucks sometimes and having someone… Again, not my place, but…"

Natasha was too stunned to reply with anything but, "Right."

"Well, I should be going." Hill stood and took a few steps toward the door. "There's no rush to get you back into the field, so don't push too hard. Rogers will stay here until you're okay to travel. See you back in DC."

Hill was almost out the door when Natasha found her voice again, "Maria…wait." She turned, concealing her surprise admirably. Natasha tried to speak twice before finally saying, "Thank you."

"You and Rogers…"

"Not about that. Although…thank you for that, too. I mean…on the jet…"

Hill nodded curtly. "I just did what you would have done."

"No. You did better. You saved my life."

"Well, I was the only one on the jet with small enough hands to…"

Natasha was tired and achy enough to dispense with her usual thin veneer of patience. "Shut up and accept this for what it is. I owe you, Hill. I won't forget."

"I know you won't. It's not necessary, but…"

"Yeah."

"Yeah." Hill turned a final time before leaving. "Get better. Captain America seems a little lost without you and you know how much we need him."

Natasha felt herself smile as she began to doze off again. Thinking about Steve seemed to have that effect on her.


	17. Girl, Interrupted

A/n: Customary thanks to all readers; reviewers can rest assured that the usual (flowers, chocolates and promises I don't intend to keep) are on the way. Just a small note to remind everyone that I'm working with MCU canon and pretending there's no such thing as comic canon because there's some mysterious Natasha backstory in this chapter. We'll just assign it to the realm of headcanon, since it's all likely to be Jossed (by the man himself!) once AoU smacks us all upside the head. I'm probably just babbling now. I just like to talk to you guys every so often. Hello, Internetland! We should all go out to the bar together some night! First round on me!

* * *

><p>Steve unlocked the door with a key code and thumbprint, holding it open for Natasha as they arrived home after ten days in Germany. She leaned against the wall in the foyer, waiting as he locked the door and reset the security system. When he turned, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. After some worrying initial coldness on first waking from her injuries, she had been nothing but affectionate with him during the remainder of her recovery. They had also carefully avoided any discussion of the mission or what it had brought up for her, so that might have influenced her attitude toward him as well. She had yet to heal completely, but she was certainly showing signs of being on her way back to complete health. He dropped their bags and settled his hands on her waist, dialing back the intensity of their kiss as he did so. She leaned into him with a sigh. "I don't deserve you, but I don't care. I'm going to be selfish and keep you until you decide to go."<p>

"Which will be, uh, never."

"Even though I'm a complete mess of a human being that…"

He tangled his hands in her hair and tipped her head so she was looking up at him. "No more of that kind of talk. I'll give you all the reassurance you need, but you've gotta start believing it at some point."

"Someday I'll tell you everything. Well, not everything, but enough. For now, I just want _us_." The kiss she gave him now was soft, pure, almost pleading. She opened her eyes and ran her thumbs over his cheekbones. "Make love to me, Steve?"

"Are you sure you're up to it?"

"We'll go slow and gentle." She rolled her hips against him. "It's amazing how you can be so strong and so tender at the same time."

"Nat, I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but…"

"Ssh. Take me to bed." He obliged, lifting her off the floor and carrying her to the bedroom.

He held her afterwards, just enjoying the closeness of their renewed physical intimacy. It had been slow and gentle and tender and absolutely amazing. He ran his free hand over her bare skin, hyperaware of the scars, large and small, that marked her. Tracing around the recently repaired wound near her spine, he sighed.

"The surgeon said it was a lucky hit. It was a bullet that bounced off a wall, so it was deformed and slow when it hit me. Missed almost everything vital."

"Except of course the main vein returning blood to your heart."

"Only for the lower half of my body."

"Which contains, like, half of my favorite parts of you."

"Oh, Steve." She laughed softly into his chest and he held her just a little bit tighter. "I love you."

"Love you, too." He stroked her hair, enjoying the warm feeling of her spontaneous declaration. It wasn't bothersome, but it was a little confusing. "Really, though, you've been acting different, even if we still haven't had a big, scary conversation about…things."

"I got some good advice from…a friend."

He was about to ask when she'd had a chance to talk with Barton, but decided to skip it and moved on to an equally loaded topic. "Can I ask you something?"

"Mmm?"

"Did you…did you change your name when you joined SHIELD? Was it like taking on a new identity for a new life?"

She squirmed uncomfortably, but didn't pull away from him. "I guess you could say that. I just Americanized my surname and started using my nickname. It's not really a big deal."

He could vaguely remember the Cyrillic characters on the list in the room above the tunnels, but only the English pronunciation had stuck with him. He tried it out silently a few times before it rolled naturally off his tongue. "Natalia Romanova."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not? It's yours. And it's a pretty name."

"It's…formal. It would be the equivalent of everyone calling you Steven all the time. You're Steve; I'm Natasha. That's who we are." She snuggled against him, pulling him against her with her right arm, which he knew was still sore. Her lips moved against his shoulder as she whispered, "You make me feel like everything will be okay."

"It will be. I love you, Natasha."

Some hours later, she was thrashing and screaming in her sleep as he tried desperately to wake her.

* * *

><p>Dr. Fleishman had been heading the small but valuable department of psychiatry at SHIELD for nearly ten years and prided himself on his specialty – successful treatment of serious psychological trauma. He had been published on several occasions and was a frequent consultant to the military, having guided many agents through the difficulties of PTSD, survivor's guilt, depression and even non-professionally related illnesses. SHEILD was a microcosm of the real world, amplified by several orders of magnitude. It was the perfect petri dish for a curious professional. Almost nothing surprised him anymore, which was why he had been looking forward to his fifth patient of the day, nearly to the detriment of his four morning sessions.<p>

He stood and smiled when his patient arrived promptly at one o'clock. "Ah, Captain Rogers! I was surprised to see you on the schedule, but I'm glad you took my offer seriously. I'm always available to an agent who needs to talk." He shook the taller man's hand and indicated a chair across from his own leather seat. "I can imagine I'd have seen more of you if your adjustment hadn't been going well?"

"Uh huh. You were really a big help when I first got unfrozen, but I'm pretty well settled in now."

Dr. Fleishman tried not to puff up with pride – it wasn't every psychiatrist who got to treat a national hero under such unprecedented circumstances, after all – and propped a notepad on his knee, holding his pen at the ready. "Then what can I do for you today, Steve?"

"Well, it's actually about my girlfriend…"

"Ah, yes, I had heard rumors you had become involved in a romantic relationship. I'm sure you're finding dating in the new century very different than it was in the 1940s."

"Yeah, we moved in together a few weeks ago, but I'm not here about…"

"Wow. Steve, I have to say that is…surprising. How long have you and your ladyfriend been dating?"

"Look, I don't really see how that's relevant."

"Everything you say is relevant, Steve, or you wouldn't be telling me. Now, how long have you been seeing her?"

Roger's looked skeptical for a moment, but seemed to come down on the side of politeness. "We've been dating for a few months. We were friends before that."

"Very good. You didn't just jump right into a relationship with a stranger. Now, am I correct in saying that this is your first sexual relationship?"

"Do we really have to talk about…yeah. She's my first and I expect her to be my last. I'm in love and everything that goes with it. Can we move on now?"

Dr. Fleishman took his time with his notes. "You seem eager to move past this topic. Why is that?"

"Because I didn't really come here to talk about me. I'm just really worried about Natasha. Ever since we got back from our last mission she's been having these really terrible nightmares. I thought it might get better with time, but it's been almost two weeks and… Dr. Fleishman, are you all right?"

The pen clattered on the floor, forgotten when Dr. Fleishman's hands had begun to shake. "When you say Natasha, you don't mean Agent Romanoff, do you?"

"Yes. She…"

"No! I have it in writing from Director Fury that any matters concerning Agent Romanoff are to be referred to an outside specialist." He wasn't sure how he'd gotten behind his desk, just that he was holding up one of the most important documents he had ever possessed. "In writing! From Director Fury!"

After Rogers left a few minutes later, Dr. Fleishman mopped his brow with a handkerchief and paged his secretary. "Candace, cancel all my afternoon appointments, please." He turned off the intercom before he heard a response and swallowed an Ativan from the emergency stash in his top desk drawer.

* * *

><p>"I told you."<p>

"Yeah, but you have to admit, it sounded made up." Steve leaned against the half-wall dividing the living room and kitchen, watching as Natasha half-heartedly Hulk-smashed Iron Man on the coffee table. He knew she'd already sent Stark several messages about the need for some villains in the Avengers toy line, along with some form of transportation that would look like but not compromise the secrecy of a quinjet. Given the things he had learned about her past recently, he wondered if she had ever had toys as a child. Pushing the thought from his mind, he continued, "What kind of person claiming to be a mental health professional bans certain patients from seeing him?"

"The kind who thinks, and I quote, 'Therapy is meant to heal trauma, not to induce more in all parties involved.' I assume he meant he couldn't handle hearing about my activities prior to joining SHIELD, but he struck me as a little oversensitive, anyway."

"Yeah, well, he gave me the number of another psychiatrist. We've got an appointment with her tomorrow at two."

"We?"

"Mostly you. But I did make the appointment. She's DOD out of the Pentagon, so hopefully she'll be able to help."

"Steve, I keep telling you I don't need…"

"Yeah, tell me again in the morning once you've given me a whole new set of bruises."

"I'm sorry." She stood, leaving the action figures on the table as she slipped her arms around him. "I haven't scared you out of bed yet, have I?"

"You won't get rid of me that easy." Her nightmares were definitely easier to handle when preceded by sex.

* * *

><p>Natasha glanced around the wood-paneled wainscoting of the waiting room. This was nice for the Pentagon, almost as nice as the Joint Staff conference room. Did the Joint Chiefs have cherry wood? Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of a ponytailed woman in a dark power-suit from the hallway rather than the inner office. "Hi, I'm Dr. Freyda Moses. You must be Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff." Natasha liked the fact that she didn't look to her assistant for aid. "What can I do for you today?"<p>

Steve began, "Well, we got a referral…"

Natasha interrupted him, "The staff shrink at SHIELD is too scared to deal with me and Steve is worried so I agreed to whatever this is."

"I see. Let's step into my office." She allowed them to settle into a comfortable pair of chairs across from a modest desk before asking, "And what's so concerning that Captain America wants the help of a psychiatric professional not available through the nation's top intelligence agency?"

Steve didn't hold back. "She's having nightmares. Really intense nightmares. She gets physically combative and it's hard to wake her up and…"

Dr. Moses merely nodded. "Mm hmm. And how do these nightmares affect you, Agent Romanoff?"

"I wake up with him freaking out, then we settle down and go back to sleep. Sometimes I wake him up again, but…" she trailed off and shrugged. "I'm not really concerned, just that I may hurt Steve in my sleep."

"Do you remember what the dreams are about?"

"Not particularly. I guess they have to do with some things that happened recently, but I can't remember them once I'm awake."

Dr. Moses nodded again, before tapping a few keys. "Bearing in mind that I have access to your entire file – the actual file, not just the one SHIELD keeps – you can feel free to talk about anything here. Privately, if you'd prefer."

Natasha felt a little better with Steve exiled to the waiting room a few minutes later, but the encounter was still far from comfortable. She leaned forward, saying, "Look, lady, I get that you're PsyOps or whatever they're calling it these days and it's your job to play mind games, but I was literally raised by the KGB, if you can define that as being raised."

Dr. Moses just gave another of her nods. "Yes, they took you out of an orphanage at just a few months old."

"Officially. Maybe I was an orphan, maybe they wanted a redheaded agent and took me from an innocent couple, maybe they seized me from political dissidents, maybe they arranged for two skilled agents to have a baby – it's all academic at this point."

"I only bring it up because you have a patronymic. Not usual for an orphan."

"Easy to make up, though." This Dr. Moses was smarter than psychiatrists she had dealt with in the past. "I don't know the truth about where I actually came from and I don't particularly care. I can't change the past."

"But you do care about Steve."

"Yes."

"All right. I can give you a prescription that should help you sleep."

Natasha was taken aback. "That's it?"

"That's it. I should warn you, though, that the nightmares are probably your subconscious coping with trauma so you can focus on other things. Without that valve, there could be a sort of build-up."

"And if that happens?"

"You'll need to find another way to release the pressure. I'm guessing you work out enough that additional physical activity wouldn't do the trick on its own. I don't normally do therapy sessions, but…I think we could learn a lot from each other, if you're willing."

"I'll stick with the meds, thanks." Natasha stood and reached for the prescription slip.

Dr. Moses actually smiled. "You don't want me using what I may learn from you."

"There are some things that shouldn't be brought into the light."

"Yet your lover is essentially the personification of light."

Natasha opened her mouth to argue and promptly closed it. Steve _was_ good and pure and innocence and light. She was again assailed by the thought that she didn't deserve him, but pushed it back in her mind. This Dr. Moses was already getting deeper than she liked with just simplistic observations. She opted for an open-ended question. "What would you recommend?"

"I think you want to tell someone about what you've been through. I think you desperately want to let everything out. In most cases, I would recommend a journal, but I don't think you'd trust even that, written and locked in a safe or typed in an encrypted file. You won't tell Steve for fear that he'll end your relationship, in spite of the fact that it's clear no such thing would happen. You could talk to me, but there's a lack of trust that makes that impossible for the moment. Still, it may be your best option. I am available for one patient, even if it isn't my usual modus operandi. I take it your fluency in Latin isn't just a cover?"

Natasha nodded. "When?"

"Give me a date and time, Agent Romanoff."

According to Steve, Natasha slept soundly for the first night in many days. She was willing to give credit to his incredible lovemaking, but the pills were likely partially responsible. It was still nice to snuggle up to Steve in the morning after a quiet night.

For some reason, she didn't mention that she'd made another appointment with Dr. Moses for the following week.


	18. I Like to Move It

Fury wished Stark was present in his office so he could throw him through a window. Of course, it would be just Fury's luck that it was the single day Stark had forgotten to pack a portable, automatically assembling Iron Man suit to fly out the window and save the day. He settled for kicking his chair across the room, drawing a surprised jerk from Rogers and casual glances from Romanoff and Barton. You try to call three top agents in for a simple meeting and they end up witnessing a damned international incident. Never freaking failed.

Stark, in sunglasses and a loud turtleneck sweater with a moose pattern, was still talking onscreen, "…see, we developed this little subdermal sensors capable of monitoring, well, pretty much everything – EEG, EKG, cellular respiration, metabolic rate – just _everything_! If Bruce so much as farts and leaves a skidmark in his little Hulk shorts, we're gonna have that data and…"

"I don't want to hear about all the scientific data you're gathering, Stark! I want to know why the Canadian Minister of Defense is calling me about a green monster man tearing the shit out of the Yukon!"

"Okay, first of all, it's the Northwest Territories and second, he hasn't been off the large parcel of land that I purchased from the Canadian government at twice its value for this specific purpose. Are the Canadians denying that this is, in fact, my private property on which I can pretty much do whatever I want as long as it doesn't put anyone but some elk in danger?"

"We'll discuss the legality of your little science experiment later. For now I'll settle for the answer to a single question – what the hell were you thinking, Stark?"

"Fury, you can't just switch off for science class and hope to crib notes from the rest of the kids." He raised his hand to wave at the three people in the sitting area. "Hey, guys. Wish you were here, because this is pretty damn awesome. You wouldn't think seeing a hundred foot pine tree uprooted and used as a club would be as entertaining as it totally is. I'm thinking since the Hulk action figure doesn't come with accessories, maybe we could include a tree or something."

"What about a rebuildable wall for him to smash through?"

"Good thinking, Natalie! Hey, didja get my email with the designs for the villain line of…"

Fury was about to explode with frustration. "Why are you talking about toys when Banner is ripping up Canada?"

"According to my readings, he's starting to calm down," Stark replied, looking far more amused than was healthy for a man currently at the top of Fury's shit list. "Once we analyze all the data we've recorded today, we may be able to find a way to control the Hulk if he gets really nuts someday. Y'know, like how they can dart a tiger and clean its teeth and fit it up with a snazzy new collar and stuff. Now, if we're all set here, I've got Bruce's coat, which he's probably gonna want soon. Always a pleasure, Director Fury, and say hey to the Canadians for me, eh?"

The monitor suddenly went dead removing the immediate target of Fury's anger. He turned and refocused. "You three know anything about this?" Though they were all suppressing laughter, Barton looked guiltiest. Fury slowly walked over to his chair, stood in front of him and leaned over. "Something you'd like to tell me, Agent Barton?"

"I think Stark won a bet with Banner. The terms were something like Banner would agree to be monitored while Hulking-out in some secluded area."

"To what end?"

Barton shrugged and held his hands up. "Science?"

"Do I even want to know what the bet was about?"

"Them."

Barton got a kick in the shin for his reply. "Snitch."

"I thought Fury already knew!"

Romanoff slouched back against the couch, where she was sitting beside Rogers. "_That_ was for telling Stark."

Barton rubbed his leg, but looked more relieved than anything else. "Well, it's not like he wouldn't have found out at some point."

"Don't snitches traditionally get…hmm." Romanoff trailed off and fiddled with Rogers' fingers. "Sleep with one eye open, Clint."

"People…threaten each other on your own time. Our current class of rookie agents is entering the final phase of their training, meaning it's time to give them a taste of what they may encounter on the job. Yes, Rogers?"

"I thought this was just the general agent class. Doesn't field agent training involve…"

"Yes, but that doesn't change the fact that everyone receiving the designation of 'agent' at SHIELD is expected to demonstrate and maintain basic proficiency in certain combat skills. That's where you three come in. Romanoff, are you medically cleared for full-contact training?"

She nodded. "Since last week."

"Good. It usually shakes out a few of the last holdouts when you put them on the mats a few times. Barton, you'll handle the final firearms qualification?"

"Got a quiverful of practice arrows ready to show up the brats with their 9mms."

"Try not to be too discouraging. We've got three in this class we're looking at for field agent training. Rogers…you stick with Romanoff."

"Director, I think I can handle a class of…"

"I know you can, Romanoff, but imagine how they'll react if they think they have to deal with Captain America after getting their asses handed to them by you. Adds a whole new dimension, don't you think?"

She furrowed her brow, but nodded. "When are they due in the gym?"

"This afternoon at one. Firing range is tomorrow at ten. Try not to put anyone on permanent disability." Fury held up his hand as Romanoff began to protest, "I know there's always one who deserves it, but just think of that money paying for your ammunition on your next time out."

"Didn't realize the budget was so tight."

Fury dismissed the group without further comment. Damn Project: Insight was really starting to get on his nerves. He sat behind his desk and sighed. After a moment, he remembered why the hold button was flashing on his phone. "Mr. Defense Minister? Sorry for keeping you waiting while I sorted out the details of this little incident…"

* * *

><p>Steve leaned against the wall of the gym in sneakers, sweats and a t shirt, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Natasha stretch in her tank top and yoga pants. She had explained on multiple occasions that spandex was a perfectly normal clothing choice for gymwear, as demonstrated by any number of the women working out here at any given time. It was funny, in a way. Even though it covered more, her catsuit was at least as revealing as her current outfit, yet he had never really thought of it as anything but functional. Well, maybe that wasn't entirely true, but at least it looked like something a terrifying assassin would wear. Form-fitting black pants and a red 'shirt' held up by skimpy little straps was the opposite of threatening. Hell, it was all he could do at the moment to maintain his position and not drag her into the supply closet.<p>

He tried to think about baseball as she spread her legs into a split and reached forward, tank top inching up her back as she flattened herself against the floor. For some reason, all he could think about as a distraction was pancakes. Another few moments and she was padding toward him on her bare feet. He smiled. She really did have such pretty little feet, though she seemed to have removed the pink polish from her toenails since this morning. She looked at him curiously as she leaned against the wall beside him. "What?"

"Huh? Oh, I just remember," he changed his mind about remarking on her ticklishness at the last moment, instead continuing, "your feet looking a little different this morning."

He was pleased to see his comment elicit the slightest blush, even if it was only the tips of her ears that colored. "It's hard to reach the right balance of emasculation for this exercise. I'd have left it if they'd been red, but you seemed to like the pink."

It was his turn to blush. It was _not_ a foot fetish, as she liked to tease, just that he appreciated the little especially feminine touches she seemed to include just for him. He was seriously considering asking her to check on something in the supply room with him when a group of people in SHEILD-issue navy blue sweatpants and loose t shirts entered the gym.

Steve recognized the instructor, an Agent Baker who had run him through his paces when he'd initially been unfrozen. He returned the man's wave and turned back to Natasha. "You have to fight all fourteen of them?"

"Not at once." She took a look at the group, now stretching warily on the mats. She seemed satisfied after a quick survey. "Only fourteen left? How disappointing."

After allowing them to warm up and put on full padding and headgear, Baker arranged the class in two lines. "All right. As you are all no doubt aware, this is your final week of hand-to-hand training. Today is your informal exam to find out what you need to improve for your final exam on Friday. One of our senior agents has generously volunteered to work with you today."

A man in the second row groaned. "We gotta fight Captain America?"

"Oh, nonsense. He's merely here as an observer. You'll be facing off against Agent Romanoff today."

A ripple passed through the group. They obviously recognized Natasha's name and had likely heard stories about the Black Widow, but some of them seemed to have trouble reconciling the larger than life reputation with the woman currently sauntering toward them. Steve did note that a woman in the middle of the front row looked nauseous, so that was something. Natasha probably wouldn't be impressed; he had to remind himself that she'd done this on many other occasions.

Baker was smiling as Natasha assumed a position to the left of the center on the mat and shook out her shoulders and arms. "Any volunteers to go first?" A musclebound man with a crew cut from the second row raised his hand immediately. If Steve had to guess, he'd probably just finished a hitch in the Corps and been recruited into SHIELD when his time was up. Baker was still smiling. "Howard, good man. Front and center. Show Agent Romanoff what you've got."

Howard jogged into a position opposite Natasha on the mats. She assumed a fighting stance, but he didn't. "No disrespect, ma'am, but wouldn't you like to put on some padding?"

Steve hid his laugh behind a cough and missed how she took the guy down. He didn't get up immediately. There were no more volunteers, so Baker just started calling names. A woman named Clark came closest to actually landing a hit on Natasha, although she may have just gotten close while flailing to regain her balance after a neatly executed trip.

Natasha hadn't even broken a sweat when she rejoined Steve against the wall half an hour later. He was tempted to fix a strap that had slid off her shoulder, but she beat him to it. He confined himself to commenting, "Good thing they get to wear padding, huh?"

"Baker will spend the week building them back up, then conduct the final exam himself. Today is just to let them know how far they still have to go."

"Seems kinda demoralizing."

"Didn't you go through Army Boot Camp?"

"Well…" He briefly got lost in his memories and missed something Baker said. "Sorry, what?"

"Just a little demonstration, if it's not too much trouble?"

Steve looked to Natasha for help, but she was already walking back onto the mats. He kicked off his sneakers and socks with a sigh. There was no way this could end a way other than badly.

As they assumed fighting stances a few feet apart, he heard her hiss, "Pull your punches and I'll make you suffer later."

He didn't want to know what later would involve if her first move was any indication. Ten minutes after that, they were both drenched in sweat, slightly bruised and with a much better appreciation of the other's evasive skills. Steve was sure he could have had her down a minute or so before if she hadn't countered by wrapping her thighs around his head and flipping him. It hadn't been the move so much as the position that had gotten him. He managed to toss her across the mat and catch his breath as she rolled into an offensive crouch. He was readying himself for her next onslaught when Baker clapped his hands.

"Great! Just fantastic! I think we all understand the standard that's expected of field agents, even if these two set the bar quite a bit higher than most. Thank you, Agent Romanoff, Captain Rogers."

Steve nodded to the group as they left, licking their wounds. He turned to say something to Natasha, but she was walking to the door…of the supply closet? He licked his lips when she flashed a wicked smile at him over her shoulder. He forgot about grabbing his shoes and followed her after a furtive glance around the mostly empty gym. He had barely closed the door when she wrapped herself around him. "Do you have any idea how much of a turn-on that was?"

He was fairly certain his sweatpants weren't doing a good job of hiding it, but pressed against her tighter, just in case there was any question. "Didn't Fury say we'd get another official reprimand for this?"

"Only if we get caught." He heard a lock click behind him and stopped worrying about anything but how to get Natasha out of her clothes. He was also happy to finally find a use for the collection of ruined punching bags he'd been stacking back here for months.

* * *

><p>Steve finished rinsing syrup from the dinner plates and placed them in the nearly-full dishwasher. "I can't remember the last time I had pancakes for dinner," he said, sitting on the opposite end of the couch from Natasha. She was working on her laptop, but extended her legs so her feet were in his lap. He noted that the little Avengers were lined up on the coffee table, but Little Widow was clinging to the corner of the computer screen.<p>

"You realize that it's a waste of water to wash the dishes before you put them in the dishwasher, right?"

He didn't argue, instead drawing a shiver from her as he ran a finger up the sole of her foot. "You up to anything important?"

"Just reading over some files."

"Anything interesting?"

"If by interesting you mean classified, then yes."

He picked up his action figure and poked its head over the edge of the screen. "Is Cap cleared for this file?"

"Strictly speaking, no one in this room is."

"Nat…"

"There's just a few things I need to know, okay?"

From her tone it was clear the topic was closed. He decided to respect her reasons for…whatever she was up to. He sighed and dropped his head back on the cushions.

"Steve…"

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to." She gave a sigh of her own and closed the laptop, setting it on the coffee table with Little Widow on top of it. "Movie?"

"I dunno. I don't really feel like watching anything that requires more than a few minutes of concentration."

She flipped the channel to a cartoon. "Good?"

"Sure." He wasn't so sure after a few minutes. "Why does a squirrel live underwater? And how can they have a beach when they're already underwater?"

His questions went unanswered as she asked one of her own, "You want to repaint my toenails?"

"Sure, if you want your entire toes to be pink."

"Then how about a massage?"

"You really think you can handle a foot rub when the least little," he drew a small squeal from her as he drew his fingertips along her arches, "hmm, touch gets you all excited?"

"You've got a serious memory problem if you think this is me getting excited, Rogers."

"No, I remember this afternoon in exquisite detail." She squealed again and began to struggle as he attacked the soles of her feet in earnest before pulling her legs toward him until she was in his lap. "But I'm not against a repeat performance, just in case there was anything I've forgotten."

"As long as I don't have to lie on those punching bags again."

"Seems like a waste of time when we've got a perfectly good couch right here." His hands moved under the old Army sweatshirt she usually wore around the house as she moved to straddle him. Her kiss was sweet like maple syrup.


	19. Odette

"Did you have any questions you didn't find the answers to in my file?"

Natasha didn't react to Dr. Moses' question as she settled into the chair across from her desk. "You knew I would get into your file."

"It seemed a safe assumption, given that you knew I had access to nearly everything about you. The KGB stuff hasn't been very helpful since I don't read Russian…"

"And the DOD has cut back on translators?"

"Seems a waste when I have someone fluent in the language sitting right in front of me."

"Is this part of the mind games? You give me my own file to translate, getting me to break down and confess my deepest thoughts as we go?"

"Not at all. In fact, you can have this to read over on your own time, if you'd like. You probably already know about the file room discovered in Minsk in 2006? We happened to receive a cabinet of more recent personnel files along with the agreed upon release of CIA-related documents."

Natasha eyed the thick stack of papers enclosed in cheap cardboard. Even if it had been faked, it could prove interesting reading. She held out her hand and accepted the folder, tucking into her bag. "As much as it annoys me to admit this, I'm having a hard time getting a read on you, Dr. Moses."

"Likewise, Agent Romanoff. Or would you prefer Natasha?" She shrugged and Dr. Moses continued, "I would imagine it's not a position either of us is used to. I suspect being able to read people quickly and accurately has life or death consequences in your line of work. But as interesting as it would be to share trade secrets, as it were, that's not why we're here."

"Why _are_ we here?"

"It was your decision to come to this appointment, Natasha. Did Steve want to come as well?"

"I didn't mention it to him." Steve had volunteered to help Agent Baker with the hand-to-hand this afternoon, relieving her of making any excuse to him for her disappearance.

"Any particular reason for that?"

"I…it just didn't come up."

"Hm." Dr. Moses nodded. "And how are the nightmares?"

"None since I started the medication."

"Good. Any side effects? Daytime drowsiness, fatigue, dry mouth, headaches, dizziness…"

"Nothing like that. I take one before I go to sleep and I'm out for the night."

"Steve must be relieved about that."

"Yes, he prefers cuddling to mauling while sleeping."

"You get tense when I bring him up."

"Look, I…"

"How's your sex life?"

"Incredible. Yours?"

Dr. Moses didn't flinch. "I can't complain."

Natasha tried to push any advantage that might be gained. "Doesn't get stale with the same person after twenty years? You've been with Janet since medical school, right?"

"No. And yes, in answer to the second question. Do you expect to still be with Steve in twenty years?"

"I love him."

"Not what I asked."

"It's the best answer I have right now. I could be dead in a week. He could leave me for someone better."

"And here I thought the Black Widow was the best."

"I am, at what I do. But this isn't about the Black Widow. It's about me."

"So you acknowledge a distinction between your professional persona and who you are."

"I've had to since I joined SHIELD. I never had a reason to separate who I was and what I did before that. It was all just part of the same bullshit. They didn't have robots advanced enough to do the work, so they trained us."

"The mission you recently returned from in Kazakhstan, the one where you were wounded – that occurred at a facility where you trained for the KGB, correct?"

"Yes," Natasha managed to get out through gritted teeth.

"I only bring it up to give you the opportunity to discuss it. If you'd prefer to set it aside for now…"

"Dr. Moses, what were you doing when you were ten years old? Something involving bicycles, friends, school…?"

"…and Barbies and television, can't forget those. I can imagine your world was very different from that of a typical American child. A typical child anywhere. So where were you at ten?"

"In the tunnels under Semipalatinsk, killing men for the first time. They'd given us smaller model Kalashnikovs, but they were still so heavy. I misjudged my first shot because of the weight. What I really remember is the smell, though; I can still smell the oil."

"But not the blood?"

"They'd gotten us used to blood and corpses already. Interrogation training started at eight, along with assisting on autopsies. You'd be amazed how fast a hardened criminal will talk when a little girl who's covered in blood up to her elbows because she's been pulling the lungs out of a dead body knocks out half his teeth with a blackjack."

"No wonder you're reluctant to talk about your life. I suspect most therapists would flee in terror or decide you were making things up."

"But not you, Dr. Moses?"

"One of the biggest secrets to my success is that I find that most people want tell you the truth on the condition that you believe it. Of course, that's provided that they're speaking to you of their own free will. Interrogation requires an entirely different set of parameters, not that I need to tell you that." She sighed and looked almost sad for a moment. "But to return to the reason we're here – Steve."

"I thought we were here because I need therapy."

"And why, after all these years, have you agreed to try therapy? You may be the beneficiary of these sessions, but you're here because of him."

"Steve is…" Natasha swallowed in spite of her dry throat, and continued, "he deserves someone better than me. He's noble and righteous and kind and everything good that a man can be. If he meets a woman who mirrors all those qualities, who fits him perfectly…what will I be able to do? I mean, besides kill her and bury the body where no one will ever find it."

Dr. Moses laughed, an unexpected reaction. "I'm sorry. It's just that having seen the two of you together, the idea that you're actually worried about him leaving you strikes me as a bit farfetched."

"He was in your office for less than…"

"But you would agree that he's the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, right?"

"That's one way to put it."

"You must be aware of the way he looks at you."

"He loves me. I know that. No matter how counterintuitive and dangerous and stupid it may be, he loves me."

"Do you wish it were different?"

"How so?"

"Well, for example, do you wish he didn't love you?"

"Honestly? No. I'm selfish and I want him to love me. I just wish I deserved it. If therapy helps with that…fine."

"I have to say, when I read your file, I never thought that self-confidence would be your major issue." Dr. Moses glanced at her watch. "Well, we appear to be out of time for today, but I think we've made a good start. Are you available the same time next week?"

"See you then."

As she was about to open the door, Dr. Moses said, "Natasha. I'd like you to do one thing before our next session."

She patted her bag with the KGB file in it. "I'll start translating it when I get the chance."

"That file is strictly for you. If you never mention it to me again, that's entirely your choice. No, what I'd like you to do is tell Steve that you're seeing me."

"That's it?"

"If it were so easy, you would have told him about this appointment. Have a good week, Natasha."

She went directly home instead of returning to SHIELD.

* * *

><p>Steve was walking up the front steps of his building when Barton exited the front door. "Hey, Cap. Saw you teaching the rookies a few moves this afternoon. Trying to cheer 'em up after their firearms qual?"<p>

"One or two did mention a newly conceived hatred for archers, but I figured they'd just watched a crappy Robin Hood movie."

"Ooh, snarky. Tash is really rubbing off on you. Oh, by the way, she's been listening to Tchaikovsky or something since I got here about an hour and a half ago, so, head's up."

"That's something to worry about?"

"She only listens to Russian composers when she's the kind of down you can't cheer her up from. She's just gonna need space and time to handle it herself. Although maybe you'll have better luck with it than I ever did. Besides, it's not like she can kick you out."

Steve shuffled his feet on the third step. "Well, how many empty apartments do you guys have in this building?"

"Hm. Hadn't thought of that. Well, good luck, anyway. Gotta go."

"Where are you headed in a jacket and tie?"

"Date with Secret Service agent. Hope she's not too paranoid to bring me back to her place, because we've got rules about bringing dates home here." Barton winked and brushed past. "Later, Cap."

"Yeah, see you." Steve made his way to the second floor much more slowly than he had intended. He was on the landing half a flight down from their apartment when he heard a swell of violins. The music increased in volume as he walked down the hall. He waited for a few moments before letting himself in.

"Why'd you stand outside so long?" He could barely hear Natasha over the stereo. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, papers and photographs spread out in front of her, covering almost the entire surface.

He walked slowly, as if he were afraid she had mined the floor. He made it to the sound system and turned the volume down until the music was background noise. "Didn't you tell me you only listened to bad music really loud?"

She grunted in reply. Although he desperately wanted to find out what was going on, he decided to take Barton's advice for at least five minutes. He retreated to the hallway closet where he hung his coat, then to the bedroom to put away his boots, then to the bathroom. He noted that the volume of the music had crept up a few increments and decided time and space were relative. Which had apparently already been thought of by some Einstein guy he hadn't had the chance to read up on yet – he was on the list. It wasn't important right now. Steve took a seat beside Natasha on the living room floor. "Hey."

She turned and pecked his lips. "Hey. How was your class with Baker?"

"Went well. Only twelve left today. A couple of them asked about you. They want to learn that thigh-flip thing you do."

"Hm." She shuffled a few papers on the table without really looking at them. From what Steve could see, they were all in Russian. He kept his eyes off the photos with an effort.

"So, what are we listening to?"

"Stravinsky's _Firebird_."

"It's pretty."

"Parts of it are, yes."

"Natasha, is everything…"

"I went to see Dr. Moses this afternoon. I have another appointment with her next week." She turned and met his eyes with an unreadable smile. "I'm in therapy."

"That…that's a good thing, right? I mean, nowadays there's not the stigma of being crazy or something that there used to be, right? Heck, I had to go see Dr. Fleishman a few times when they unfroze me."

"I would still prefer to keep it quiet."

"I won't tell anyone. I just…I don't understand, I guess. I thought the pills you were taking cured your nightmares."

"Nightmares are a symptom and the pills treat the symptom. There are some things that I can only deal with if I talk about them."

Steve was hurt, but tried to keep it from his voice. "You can talk to me."

"I know." She dropped her head onto his shoulder. "I know, Steve. It's just…there are things you may not want to know. And you may not realize you didn't want to know them until it's too late for me to take them back. Or I may tell you something without thinking and…and…I don't know."

She seemed so small and vulnerable that he couldn't think about anything but protecting her, from the world, from her past, from anything and everything. He collected her in his strong embrace and settled her in his lap, stroking her hair as she buried her face in his neck. "Whatever you need, Nat. I'm here and I'll support you. If Dr. Moses helps you, make as many appointments as you need."

He dipped his head as she guided him into a soft kiss. They remained like that until he jumped with a sudden increase in the intensity of the music. She slipped out of his lap with a soft laugh and started shuffling through the papers on the table again. "This is my complete KGB file. Not even SHIELD has it, as far as I know. Nothing redacted, nothing copied. All original documents and photographs."

"So you pull this out to reminisce every so often over, um, Russian music and…I feel like vodka should be involved."

"This is actually the first time I've seen it in its entirety. Dr. Moses gave it to me."

"And you trust her?"

"I've been going over it all afternoon and if it's a fake, it's pretty damn convincing. There are dates and details that could only be confirmed by me or the dead. It could just be combination of real stuff with the gaps filled in. Look at this, for example."

It was a creased picture of a newborn, swaddled in blankets so only the fingers and face were visible. "Is this you?"

"Possibly. My name is written on the back, along with a date. The only thing that doesn't track is the name of the town. It doesn't seem to exist anymore, which isn't that surprising in and of itself, but it's thousands of miles from my official birthplace."

Steve was still looking at the photo, fascinated. "Look at your little green eyes! And tiny fingers! Who's holding you? Is that your mother?"

"Unlikely. The orphanage probably took this when I was dumped there. The only thing I can think of is that there was another town too small to be registered and the larger one was substituted. Or something. Can't even be sure that's actually me."

She plucked the picture from Steve's hand. "But the eyes…"

"Photoshop, babe. Now _this_ photo, I actually remember."

He considered for a moment before saying, "This is the angriest third grade class photo I've ever seen."

"Well, that's what happens when you tell a group of kids you've been training for espionage and undercover operations that they have to pose for an official portrait." She unnecessarily pointed out her own scowling face in the front row. "That's me, at ten. And beside me is Pavel. He was dead two weeks later. Oksana, Boris, Ivan, Vasily, Darya, Timofei, Dmitri, Katya, Alexi, Little Boris, Anton – all dead now. Perhaps not Vasily. I never found out what really happened to him."

The group of angry ten year olds was suddenly a lot easier to understand. He thought back to his own class photos. Although the number of dead was unlikely to match hers, there would probably be a higher mortality rate among the young men than would be normal today. He decided in that moment that learning everything he could about World War II was all well and good, but it might do him some good to focus on the Cold War for a while. The book he'd read about the German siege of Stalingrad had been pretty harrowing. If that was the kind of culture that had raised Natasha…

He gently tugged the group photo from her hands. "Let's put this stuff away for a while. We'll get dressed up and go eat somewhere nice and talk about how beautiful it was in Bali and how terrible I was at surfing. Maybe plan our next vacation?"

The coffee table was bare thirty seconds later and he walked to the bedroom to dress as she put the file in the safe. She poked her head into the bedroom a moment later. "Suit and tie, hm? And what did you have in mind?"

"Uh, short dress. Knee-length, I mean, not Vegas-short. And heels? Please?"

"Only because you said please, Captain." She disappeared into the guest room across the hall, which she used as a walk-in closet that Steve had the feeling might rival the one Pepper Potts had shown him during his tour of the Tower, in content if not organization. Natasha was certainly going to turn heads tonight as she met him in the hall wearing a somehow modest but revealing dark blue number.

"You…that…wow."

"I'm sure it will look better later on the bedroom floor."

He kissed her neck as she set the security system to its away mode, tempted to change their plans entirely. They met Barton in the stairwell when she resisted his charms. Steve grinned at the despondent archer. "What happened to your Secret Service agent?"

"Called in on some emergency. You guys want tickets to the Bolshoi Ballet at the Kennedy Center? _Swan Lake_? Doesn't start for another half hour."

"I think I would know if the Bolshoi was in town, Clint." In spite of her tone, she snatched the tickets from his hand.

He waved as he continued up the stairs. "Whatever. Russian ballet. I'm not getting laid tonight no matter who's dancing."

Although the dancing was beautiful and their seats were excellent, Steve found it hard to look away from Natasha's rapturous expression through the first act. When the curtain came down, he whispered to her, "Was there anything in that old file about ballet lessons?"

He decided that the baby picture hadn't been Photoshopped when she fixed her gaze on him. "Plan on a light dinner, because you are getting such a lesson in flexibility tonight."


	20. Milkshake

Maria Hill didn't look up from her tablet as she hurried through lunch in the SHIELD cafeteria. While she usually packed her lunch and ate at her desk or took advantage of the catered lunch meetings Fury was fond of scheduling, an unfortunate confluence of events had resulted in an empty refrigerator and no time to stop on her way to work. It happened every so often and she was stuck eating whatever the SHIELD cooks had decided to consider comestible that day. It was a bigger crapshoot than Atlantic City. She had been lobbying for something better since her latest promotion, but none of her requests had gotten past a preliminary approval. Even the Pentagon had a damn food court – with a Subway! There was no way a place that got away with calling their employees 'sandwich artists' couldn't find a few of said artists that wouldn't pass a level-five background check.

She scanned through the report she was reading and scooped another mouthful of lemon chicken and assorted pasta into her mouth. She didn't even want to know why SHIELD was serving a combination of what looked like sea creatures and dinosaurs. Had they been reduced to serving rejects from the Smithsonian cafes? Or had there been a mix-up? Were there kids at the Natural History Museum complaining about fettuccini at this very moment? Hill briefly considered checking the security cameras – the Smithsonian was easily hackable, even for her – but decided to muscle through her lunch and hope the chocolate cake made it all worthwhile.

The mixed vegetables were looming halfway to her goal when someone sat down across from her. She didn't look up, assuming someone equally busy had just chosen an empty seat; it was lunchtime, so the room was busy and fairly noisy. Another reason she didn't often come here. She had way too much to do to socialize. Her tray was jarred slightly, but she ignored it. Her bottled water was nearly knocked over when a second impact hit her tray. "Hey, you want to be a little more…oh."

"Busy, Hill?" Romanoff smiled in one of the many ways that made Hill nervous. _Her_ tray contained nothing but desserts, which were admittedly the most palatable offering in the cafeteria. She leaned back in her chair and stretched her legs to rest her heels on the far end of the table. "Whatever you're reading can't be that interesting. Barton, Rogers and I have all been here for the past few weeks and STRIKE is stuck cleaning up Canada after…well, you know."

"You do realize that this agency's activities don't revolve exclusively around you, right?"

"Not at all." Romanoff took a large bite from the slice of strawberry cheesecake she had selected from her tray. "If anything, SHIELD gets to be the sun. I'm more like Eris."

Hill bypassed the obvious question, asking, "Not Mars?"

"God of War? No, too obvious. Now, Iron Man, he's your Mars." She swallowed another bite of cheesecake. "Fury is probably Mercury, since he's closest to the center, which I guess would make _you_ Venus." She finished the last bite of cheesecake and moved on to a piece of carrot cake. "Hulk would be Jupiter – looks peaceful on the outside but is, in reality, a maelstrom. Thor has the bling, so he's Saturn. Barton would be Uranus, if only because he'd find it hilarious."

Tiring of the astronomy lesson and torturous dessert-eating, Hill spat, "So that would make you, what? Neptune, Pluto? Earth?"

"Steve is Earth. The only planet to support life." Romanoff looked serious for a moment before turning her attention back to her carrot cake and random lecture. "Like I said, I'm Eris. Dwarf planet. Orbiting quietly around the outer reaches of the Solar System, mostly unnoticed, flashing through some lucky observatory's telescope on rare occasions. Still, Eris is named for the Greek goddess of chaos and discord. You always have to watch out for the quiet ones."

"I guess that rules you out."

"Sometimes you have to be loud to go unseen." She dropped her empty carrot cake plate on top of the cheesecake plate and picked up the tiramisu. "Other times, it's a great alibi."

Hill dropped her fork and lowered her tablet. "Seriously?"

"What? I'm clearly sitting with a reliable witness in the cafeteria right now. Clint is on the firing range surveillance cameras, if you want to check. Good guy that he is, he's offering the rookies some guidance. And as for Steve, well, Director Fury took him to Capitol Hill for a meet and greet with some House committee. Mmm, this is really good. You want a bite?" She offered a forkful of tiramisu across the table.

Hill shook her head. She was under orders to ignore some of Romanoff and Barton's more visible antics, but this was just too much. "I'm sorry, Romanoff, but are we friends or something now?"

"We could be. Considering how long you had your fingers inside me, some people might consider us something more." She actually turned to a group of people at another table with a grin and a wink before finishing off her tiramisu.

"She was bleeding out!" Hill protested as the group turned back to their meals, smirking. Great. This was just what she needed. "I will drown you in paperwork," she hissed. "Just tell me what you're here for."

All pretense of affability suddenly dropped from Romanoff's countenance as she let her feet fall to the floor and leaned across the table and dropped her voice to a whisper, "Who're the three going into field agent training?"

"Where'd you get the idea there's three?"

"Fury. Now, who?"

"Why do you care?"

"I've got a thousand riding on each with Clint. Give me the inside track and I'll cut you in for ten percent."

"This is all for some stupid…" Hill paused and thought for a moment. "Thirty and I won't ask why you brought up the need for an alibi."

Romanoff frowned. "Twenty."

"Twenty-five or I call security right now."

"Fine! Twenty-five. Now…"

Hill lowered her voice even more, "Clark, Howard and Jacobson."

"You'll have five hundred as soon as the confirmations come through." Romanoff grinned and resumed her more relaxed position, digging into a piece of chocolate cake. "Always nice to talk with you, Hill."

Hill was about to return to her tablet, thankful the conversation was at an end, when the math settled in the back of her mind. "Twenty-five percent of three thousand is…"

"Yeah, but we both had Jacobson, so it's twenty from two. Still a pretty good deal for just sitting there and watching me eat your cake." Romanoff licked her lips and dropped a final empty plate onto her tray before standing and walking away.

Hill was left with her half-eaten mixed vegetables, critter pasta and no dessert. She called out, "You're supposed to bus your own tray!" Romanoff was already out the door. Hill picked up both of their trays, muttering, "Last time I clamp a major vessel for you."

Still, with a minor amount of fuss, she might be able to find out why Romanoff had been so keen to establish alibis for herself and her two most likely co-conspirators. And that could be worth something down the road. She juggled both trays with her tablet as she carried them to the clean-up station. She made a note on her tablet as she rode the elevator back to her office to make the SHIELD cafeteria less like college. If only there were a way to put Romanoff on double-secret probation…

* * *

><p>Natasha tapped her foot against the floor as she leaned beside her locker, waiting for the file she'd been promised. She was full from all the sweets she'd eaten at lunch and eager to get on the treadmill to start working them off. She was about to give up and hit the gym when Miranda Clark burst into the locker room.<p>

"Finally! What took you so long?"

"Sorry, but there was an extra patrol you didn't tell me about."

"You would have missed it if you'd been faster." Natasha took the file from the rattled rookie's hands. "But you did good. Go, I'll be in the gym later."

She tucked the folder into her locker and rapidly changed into her gym clothes. An hour later, she had worked up a good sweat and gotten over a bout of nausea when Steve stepped onto the neighboring treadmill. "How long were you standing behind me?"

He grinned and shook his head, rapidly increasing the speed of his treadmill to match hers. "Longer than I should have. I would, once again, like to voice my displeasure that men other than me are allowed to see you in those pants."

"Wait 'til you see what I've got on under my hoodie."

She noted that he caught himself before doing an embarrassing faceplant. "Will I need to drag you into the supply closet when I do?"

"Please. That would be your first reaction if I was wearing a burqa."

"Only once I was sure it was you underneath." They ran in silence for a short time before he asked, a little too casually, "So…what are you wearing?"

"Oh, it's blue, stretchy, form-fitting. I think you'll like it."

"You really make me crazy sometimes, Nat."

Clint suddenly dropped down in front of them from the rafters. "Only sometimes, Rogers? She must be getting soft."

"Jesus, Barton!" Steve came even closer to tripping this time.

Natasha smiled serenely when he glanced over to see she hadn't even broken stride. Of course, she'd been expecting Clint to pop in for a while. He leaned his arms on the front of her treadmill and glanced at the display. "Only twelve miles so far, Tash? You've barely even got the elevation up!"

She ignored his barbs, decreasing both her elevation and speed as she started her cool down. "How was the firing range?"

"Oh, you know. How was your lunch with Hill?"

"Very pleasant."

Steve looked at them suspiciously. "What's going on with you two?"

Clint raised an eyebrow at her. "Didn't hook your boyfriend up with an ironclad?"

"Didn't have to. Fury brought him to Congress for show and tell."

"Really, what's going on?"

"I'll tell you later. I promised to teach a couple of the rookies some moves this afternoon." She hit the stop button on her treadmill and took a long sip of water. "Oh, and we're getting a new TV because Clint owes me two grand."

"Hill gave up the names?" Clint banged his fist on the treadmill. "Damn. I was sure about Prewitt. Well, I don't have to pay up until they actually get confirmed for field agent training." He laughed as she unzipped her hoodie and slipped out of it. "I didn't know they made Captain America tank tops."

Steve did go flying off the back of his treadmill this time. Natasha didn't feel _too_ guilty about it.


	21. Tremble for my Beloved

A/n: **M-rated content **in the first part of this chapter. So either read on eagerly or skip it, just as you please. Then the feels happen in the second bit. Does anyone else smell coffee?

* * *

><p>Steve groaned as he kicked off his shoes and dropped onto the couch, propping his legs up on the coffee table in spite of his usual protestations against such bad manners. He felt he'd earned a little break from propriety after the incident in the gym. True, his pride was bruised more than his body, but his body was still sore. Not even Captain America escaped ejection from a treadmill without a few aches and pains. The fact that he was getting no sympathy from Natasha didn't make him want to feel better just yet. He rolled his head to the side to watch her put away some groceries they'd picked up on the way home. "I could have broken a tooth. Or a bunch of teeth. Super soldier serum can't regrow teeth."<p>

"They have dental implants now." She didn't even pull her head from the refrigerator to offer this reassurance. "I would imagine our health plan probably covers them."

He resorted to whining, "C'mon, Nat. This was sort of your fault."

That got her attention. She stood slowly and placed a bottle of juice on the counter. "You falling off a treadmill was my fault?"

"I said sort of. You were teasing me about what you had on, then when Barton said…and I looked, and there's my shield, smack dab between your breasts and…it was distracting!" he finished lamely as she walked toward him.

Natasha blithely stepped over one of his outstretched legs and knelt in front of him. "Nat, what are you doing?"

She ran her hands up his thighs, making every hair on his body prickle with hope. "What does it look like I'm doing?" She was already unbuckling his belt. He held his breath as she unbuttoned his pants and unzipped them. Slowly, she pulled up his shirt and began unbutton it from the bottom up. Her fingertips brushed his stomach near his bellybutton and suddenly began to trace the thin trail of hair leading to and under the waistband of his boxers. She followed the same path with her tongue a moment later, drawing a gasp from him. "How's _that_ for distracting?"

"I…" He forgot what he was about to say when the snap of elastic stung beneath his scrotum as she exposed him in one motion. He had been hardening from her first touch and was completely there when she ran the tip of her tongue along the underside of his shaft. She licked her lips and smiled up at him before taking him into her mouth. He was aware for a moment that his higher brain functions were about to leave him, but the world turned so happy and muzzy when they did that it was hard to focus on much. "Oh, N-n-nat."

She was using her mouth and tongue and hands, sucking and licking and stroking and all he had to do was…enjoy every second of it. He tried to say her name, but all that came out was, "Unnngghh."

She hummed in the back of her throat, adding the slightest vibrations to his already overloading senses. He felt his legs start to quiver as he got closer. He wanted to scream his pleasure with every cell in his body, but wasn't in control of anything at the moment. It was utterly wonderful. And…and…

His next moment of complete awareness came as he felt Natasha licking him clean. He watched her, mouth agape as he tried to put some words together. "Thaaa…"

She finished as he softened and gently tucked him back into his dampened boxers. "Mmm, I think you liked that a little too much." He grinned at her stupidly as she climbed from between his legs onto the sofa beside him. She raised his chin with a fingertip and pecked his lips. "It's like you go braindead for a while every single time I give you a blowjob."

"I…I…don't."

"Every. Single. Time." She punctuated the words with little kisses along his jaw. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing, just wondering if it means something. I mean, it doesn't happen during sex."

Enough blood had returned to circulation by this time for him to start thinking again. "Well, that's different. When we're both…when we make love, it's like there's this…_us_ that happens and it's just…it's different when you…y'know…" He felt the blood he'd been relying on for oxygen to help him think rush to his skin. In spite of his eagerness to participate in sex and all the amazing feelings that went along with it, it still wasn't the easiest thing for him to talk about. He tried to make another effort. "When…when we're both…together…at the same time…or I…but when you…"

Her voice was low and lascivious in his ear. "When I blow you? When I suck your hard cock and squeeze your tight balls until all of your sweet come is running down my throat? When I wrap my lips around your big, thick dick and…"

"Stop!"

"Aw, am I polluting your innocent ears?" Her tongue flicked along the burning shell of his ear before she drew back and patted his chest. "Well, I'll stop making you uncomfortable and start making dinner. What do you feel like?"

What he really felt like involved skipping dinner and possibly work tomorrow, but he asked, "What do we have?"

"I was planning on a chicken stir-fry, but if you want something else, I can…"

"No, that sounds good." He sighed and stood once he was sure he could do so on steady legs. He went to the bedroom and changed into a pair of flannel pants and an old t shirt. The food was sizzling on the stove when he returned to the living room. He walked up behind Natasha, resting his hands on the flare of her hips as she poked the contents of a pan with a spatula. "I'm sorry I'm not good at talking about sex."

"Talking isn't the important part. And you are incredible in the ways that count."

He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. "I just…people didn't used to talk about things like sex in public and now, I feel like it's everywhere. And who knows? Maybe I would have gotten used to it after a while or maybe I still would have been uncomfortable, but I'm with you and I love you. I love being with you. And our…physical relationship is better than anything I could have dreamed of. I just…it's so much more than that. People seem so casual about sex and I can't even have a conversation about it with you when it means so much."

"Hey. Relax." She set down her spatula and turned to face him. "We know how we feel. We know what it means to us. We'll concentrate on each other and the world can go fuck itself."

"You've really got a way with words sometimes, Nat."

She kissed him softly. "You love my mouth. For a wide variety of reasons." She turned back toward the stovetop.

He hid his latest blush in her matching hair.

* * *

><p>Natasha listened to Steve's even breathing in the darkness. Being careful not to wake him, she slipped away from his light embrace and out of bed. Grabbing his t shirt off the floor, she pulled it over her head as she left the room and silently closed the door. It wasn't until she was in the hallway that she realized she'd been holding her breath. Although she wouldn't trade her new living situation for anything, she sometimes missed the freedom that complete privacy brought. She wasn't even trying to hide anything from Steve, not exactly, but she wasn't in the mood to explain her actions either. And Steve did like to ask questions, mostly out of concern for her. It was endearing and only occasionally annoying.<p>

She opened her safe and removed the KGB file she had gotten from Dr. Moses and set it on the coffee table. The file she'd had Clark take from the secure physical archives was placed next to it a moment later. Natasha considered them both. The KGB file was thicker, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Wrapping the blanket from the back of the sofa around her bare legs, she sat down and reached between the cushions for one of the knives hidden around the apartment. The SHIELD file was sealed, literally, with red tape marking the edges. She flipped the knife open with an easy motion of her wrist and slid the blade under the tape, opening the file for the first time since Fury had sealed it front of her after offering it up for her inspection shortly after her defection. It had been an important gesture at the time, the Director essentially saying, 'This is what we know you did and we're not going to worry about it again.' She hadn't trusted Fury much at the time, but it had been a good stepping stone. She hoped she wasn't harming that trust now.

She flipped the SHIELD file open. It didn't include photos and most of the content was intelligence they had collected about her, but there were some original documents she wanted to compare to the ones in the KGB file. She started looking, making sure to keep the two sets of papers separate.

She started with birth records and worked her way forward. SHIELD's files didn't contribute much until a note about an unconfirmed witness to an assassination in St. Petersburg, which SHIELD agents had been trying to prevent. They had attempted to question a young girl spotted leaving the scene, but been unable to track her down. Natasha remembered the incident clearly; she had been thirteen, sent to eliminate a visiting diplomat during an event at the Hermitage. She had waited in the Winter Palace, trying not to allow her attention to be distracted by the treasures displayed therein, until her target had entered the room. No one in the man's entourage had thought to impede the progress of such a small girl, not even after their charge had collapsed to the floor with the long knife that had entered his left ventricle at an extremely oblique angle still in his back. Her diminutive stature had prevented her from cutting his throat as her orders had stated. In spite of the fact that it had been her third successful mission, she had been beaten on her return to headquarters. She had added none of this information to the SHIELD report when she had seen it in Fury's office.

There were a dozen other incident reports, all mentioning a small redheaded girl of indeterminate age leaving the area of several prominent assassinations. No connection had been made between the reports until some bored analyst on the Russia desk had noted the similarities of the description. Following that, it appeared that SHIELD agents working in Russia and Eastern Europe had been more aware of her presence, though none had gotten close to her. Well, Williams had. She understood that his widow received a handsome pension and had remarried several years ago. His children referred to their step-father as 'dad.'

It was around the time she'd turned seventeen that SHIELD had obtained some of their first direct intelligence regarding a Russian agent known as 'Black Widow.' It was in the form of a list of KGB assets. Just her name on a list – not even her name, but her designation. Her title. The name by which she was known by the world. She had never given it much consideration before. It was just something they called her, an intimidating alter-ego to add to the presence she had worked so hard to develop. She didn't look up at the shelf where the little Avengers, including Little Widow, were watching her with their little painted eyes. When had her life changed so drastically that she could feel so judged by a small group of plastic heroes but not a theater, a plaza, a cathedral full of witnesses?

An hour later, she was feeling worse about her life than ever, had yet to find any anomalies and was considering giving the KGB file up as authentic when she heard a creak in the hallway behind her. Her hand automatically went to the knife, back in its hiding place between the sofa cushions.

"Nat? It's three in the morning. Is everything okay?"

She released her grip on the knife, turned and smiled at Steve when she saw him in the dim lamplight. "Y'know, most men would be good until at least the next morning after what we got up to last night."

"Huh?" He looked down, as if he weren't yet awake enough to know what his own body was up to. "Oh. Yeah. Should've put on pants. I just get nervous when I wake up and you aren't there."

Her gaze flicked between the material she'd been reading and his concerned blue eyes, still bleary with sleep. "I really don't deserve you."

"Please don't start with that." He sat beside her and pulled her into his chest. She didn't resist, snuggling into his warmth, wanting to greedily absorb every bit of him up to the point when he realized she was right and left. "Why are you up in the middle of the night, reading your old file?"

"I just thought…I was comparing it to my SHIELD file to see if there was anything in it to make me think it wasn't real, but…Steve, I _remember_ it. I remember everything. I look at my life and it's like I was created as an avatar of death and destruction and…" Her tears came hot and fast and unexpected.

Even Steve was unprepared for a moment, but his embraced never slackened. "Tell me."

And for the first time, she did. She talked until her voice was hoarse and her throat sore. Steve didn't let go of her once. When she came to the end of her story around sunrise – Barton's decision not to kill her when he had the chance – Steve's arms tightened around her. "I'm so sorry. I should have told you what you were getting into when we started our relationship, but…I thought I could leave everything behind and start over or something. I never knew I could _feel _so much. And now it's like I've trapped you, like a real goddamn black widow, and I should just let you go but I can't and…"

"That's enough, Natasha." The blanket fell away from her legs as he picked her up in his powerful arms. For a moment, she was sure he was carrying her to the window to toss her out like she deserved, but they were back in bed a moment later, holding each other. His voice was a confident whisper in her ear, "You're no more responsible for what the KGB made you do than that little baby in the picture in the file. They raised you to obey them, just like my Ma raised me to be what I am. I was lucky to be raised by a caring woman who taught me to be the best man I could be. You never had that chance, but you were brave enough to see what they made you wasn't what you wanted to be and you made the decision to change it."

She felt as if she were collapsing into his love and protection in a way she had never felt before. He had taken the worst of her and given back nothing but his best. She clutched him as if he were the only floatation device in a roiling sea.

He suddenly held her face in both his hands, pulling gently until she looked up at him. His eye shone with what may have been tears. "You are my strong, brave, selfless, loving Natasha. And I've never been afraid of spiders."


	22. Everybody Hurts

If Steve had been hurt when Natasha had first told him that she was going to therapy to talk about her past, it was nothing compared to the pain he felt on her behalf now that she had opened up to him. Listening to her talk about her early life, her memories had made his heart ache. He thought he'd had some idea of what her life had been before SHIELD, but he had really been clueless. Had he been the kind of guy to make a hit list, he would have composed it last night, making sure to include the name of every KGB asshole who had done his or her part to damage Natasha over the years. At the very least, he would make it his personal responsibility to make sure anyone who even thought about hurting her from this point on would…he tried to think of an appropriate response, but everything he came up with seemed over the top and nowhere near enough at the same time. Revenge really wasn't his forte. Protection, though. He could do that for her.

It was an easy enough task at the moment. She was still asleep, although it was nearly ten in the morning. He had encouraged her to take one of the sleeping pills Dr. Moses had prescribed around three hours ago, when she had started to shiver in the warmth of their bed, unable to fall asleep in spite of her exhaustion. He had been holding her more tightly since the medication had taken effect, feeling alternately furious, sad and helpless that there was probably nothing more he could do to fix things. He was thankful that he had been able to hold back his own tears until she had finally dozed off against his chest, where she remained even now; his emotional strength had given out at the point when he no longer had to maintain it for her sake.

He wondered how things would be when she woke – if she'd want to pretend nothing was different. That sounded impossible, given everything he now knew. Thrown in a freezing lake at five to sink or swim. Bathed in the blood of the dead to rid her of fear at eight. Forced to kill three grown men in the tunnels of Semipalatinsk at ten. Raped by a comrade in those same tunnels at fourteen. Stabbing, shooting, strangling her way through a list of targets she could never question, lest she become the next name on the list. Finally spared by a fellow assassin and given a new life at twenty-three. His war hadn't even begun until he'd been nearly that age, an age at which she had already spent a lifetime at war. That she was capable of functioning as normal human being was nothing short of a miracle.

Of course, having been revived after seventy years on ice, Steve was a big believer in miracles. Maybe it wasn't as strange as everyone seemed to think that he and Natasha had been drawn together.

He was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts by what sounded like the apartment door opening. He looked around frantically for a moment as he heard the soft beeping of the alarm code being entered. He was about to reach for one of Natasha's guns when Barton's voice called out, "Tash? Rogers? You guys here?"

"In the bedroom." Steve made sure the covers were pulled up over Natasha as footsteps approached.

Barton paused outside the half-open bedroom door. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, Nat just had a rough night and…" he trailed off as Barton entered the room, his eyes flicking over Natasha's sleeping form on top of Steve before turning to the floor. Steve felt only slightly self-conscious about their position, adjusting his arms around Natasha slightly on top of the sheets. "She…she just needed some quality sleep."

Barton nodded without looking up. "When you didn't call in, Hill tried calling you, but neither of you were picking up your phones. She asked me to make sure everything was all right."

"Well, we're fine."

"I told you it was a bad idea, but…you were reading your file, weren't you? I saw it on the coffee table."

"Barton, she's…"

"Yeah, pretending to be asleep so she doesn't have to hear that I told her so." He started to pace, still looking at the floor. "Really, Tasha, I should have remembered the music from a few days ago and said no when you told me you wanted your sealed SHIELD file, but when do I say no to you, right?"

Steve stroked Natasha's hair and gave her shoulder a gentle shake, but she slumbered on without response, her breathing slow and even. "She's not faking."

"Don't be so naïve, Rogers. She probably woke up when I walked up the stairs. Right, Tash?" Barton picked up her hand and let it go; it flopped back against Steve's chest with a dull smack. Barton's brow suddenly furrowed. "Hey, Natasha. Enough." He actually pinched her arm on the sensitive skin near the inner bicep.

Steve slapped his hand away. "Leave her alone."

Natasha had been roused enough to agree with a soft, "Nng," before going back to being dead to the world.

"What the hell is wrong with her? What did you do, Rogers?"

"Me? She took one of her sleeping pills around seven this morning. I told you it was a rough night for her and…"

"Sleeping pills?" Barton was looking at him, horrified. "Tash doesn't take shit like that willingly. She won't take painkillers stronger than ibuprofen because they dull her edge. What'd you make her take?"

"Do you honestly think I could force her to take anything she didn't want to?"

"Then where'd she get the pills?"

"From her doctor."

"What doctor? For what?"

Steve suddenly realized that if Natasha hadn't told Barton about her decision to go into therapy, it was probably for good reason. He held her a little more protectively, saying, "I don't think it's my place to tell you."

"Well she can't tell me anything if you've got her all drugged up, can she?" Barton looked for a moment as if he was going to fight to take Natasha from Steve's arms, but he stepped back. His voice was quiet and dangerous when he said, "I'll tell Hill you're both taking a sick day, but I'm coming back tonight. Try not to sedate her."

"Fuck you, Clint," Natasha mumbled, her eyes fluttering for a moment. Then she was again deeply asleep.

Oddly enough, that drew a smile from Barton. "That's my Natasha." His features hardened again. "Tonight, Rogers."

Steve waited until he heard the front door close behind Barton to place a soft kiss on the top of Natasha's head. "_My_ Natasha."

* * *

><p>"Steve?" Natasha blinked a few times to shake off the cobwebs the sleeping pills left in her mind when she woke. The clock read 3:36 PM. She was sleeping alone in the afternoon after a night of…oh. The memories came back in a rush, knocking the air from her lungs as effectively as a blow to the chest. She gasped as loudly as she could manage, "Steve?"<p>

He appeared in the doorway a moment later. "Did you call me?"

She held her arms out toward him and he responded immediately, crossing the room and sweeping her into an embrace that made it okay to breathe again. "I woke up and you were gone and I…"

"Shh. It's okay, Nat. I'm not going anywhere." He stroked her hair gently as he spoke, calming her further. "I was just drawing a bath and I was planning to wake you when it was ready for you. How does that sound?"

"Please don't let me go." She clutched him tightly, pulling him down on top of her just to feel the solidity of his body. His weight pressing her into the mattress was a comfort in and of itself. He was her shield, protecting her from the past with the promise of his love now and forever.

"Um, Nat, not that I wouldn't be happy to stay like this indefinitely, but the tub is gonna overflow if I don't shut it off soon." She wrapped her body around him as he stood. He reached under her thighs to support her as he carried her into the bathroom. Steam was already thick in the air when he set her down on the floor so he could lean down to turn off the taps and switch on the jets. "Any chance I'm leaving you in the tub to go make you something to eat?"

She smiled and shook her head. He kicked off his boxers, then pulled his stolen t shirt over her head. Once he was in the tub, she settled on top of him in the hot water, allowing her head to fall back on his shoulder as he slipped his arms around her waist. "Comfortable?"

"Mmm."

With her back pressed against his chest, she could feel his voice as he said, "Jacuzzi bathtubs should definitely have been on the list. I can't believe I didn't know they were a thing until I moved in with you. Not that I even knew about hot tubs until Bali."

The memory of their private hot tub at the resort in Bali brought back pleasant memories, causing her to smile dreamily. "Clint mocked me when I had it installed, right up until the day he got his ass handed to him by a gang of Yakuza during a mission. Then he begged to use it every night until his sore ass healed."

"Hm."

"What? It's not going to happen again. Well, not that he's learned his lesson about the Yakuza, just that he has his own tub now."

"Still, I'm not sure how I feel about my bare ass being where Barton's was."

"Then forget about Clint's bare ass and focus on the one in your lap."

His hands dropped to her hips, preventing her from grinding against him. "Hold on for a second. Before I forget, Barton stopped by this morning. I didn't call in and SHIELD sent him by to make sure we were okay. He's coming back after work."

"So?"

"Well, he was here not too long after you'd taken your sleeping pill and you wouldn't wake up. He was really upset when I mentioned that you'd taken something to help you sleep, accused me of making you take it. He asked some other questions, but I didn't think it was any of his business, so I told him he'd have to talk to you."

She closed her eyes and turned her face into Steve's neck. "Clint means well. I haven't been spending much time with him since we've been together."

Steve cleared his throat significantly. "I know you two never got involved, even though a lot of people seemed to think you were."

"Mm hmm." She nipped at his neck, hoping to encourage him in a different direction.

"I guess I'm just wondering…why?"

"Why did everyone assume Clint and I were a couple?"

"No, I mean…why _weren't_ you?"

"You're honestly asking me why I never slept with Clint?"

She felt his grasp tighten on her hips. "It's probably weird for me to ask, but you guys have a lot in common. And you're close. I remember how worried you were when Loki took him over, no matter how well you thought you were hiding it. The two of you sort of make sense."

"I thought that, too." She looked up to try and gauge Steve's reaction. "And…when I first came to SHIELD, he was the only person I trusted for a long time. He was all I had. I really, really wanted us to…" She didn't say the words, as the vein on Steve's forehead had started to become visible. "But Clint wasn't interested. I guess he could just see the road ahead better than I could at the time. It might have been good for a while, but we're too alike. Someone would have gotten maimed in the end." Her hand chilled immediately when she pulled it from the water to rest it against Steve's cheek. "Listen, I owe Clint a debt I can never repay. We make great friends and partners. I trust him with my life and then some. And I do love him. Just not the way that I love you."

He finally stopped resisting the pressure of her hand, turning toward her. "I guess I owe him, too. If he had completed his mission, I wouldn't have you now." The kiss was soft and sensual, seeming hotter and wetter due to their position in the bathtub. She reached behind her just as Steve slipped his hand between her thighs.

Natasha didn't realize how much water they had sloshed out of the tub until they were getting out of the lukewarm water, relaxed and satisfied, a good thirty minutes later. She turned off the jets and grabbed fresh towels for them both. He rubbed her down with the soft terrycloth as the tub drained, kissing the skin he had just touched as he went from her neck down to her feet. He smiled up at her as he knelt in front of her, towel wrapped low around his waist. He kissed her belly just below her navel before rising. She rested her forearms on his shoulders. "I've always enjoyed this tub, but you make everything so much better."

She was cleaning up the files on the coffee table a short time later while Steve brewed a pot of coffee. She had just finished putting the SHIELD file back together when he walked over with a cup for her. "Thanks." They both sat on the couch, looking at the two closed folders as they drank their coffee. The silence was suddenly too much for her. "What are you thinking about?"

"Barton. You told me he had the chance to kill you and didn't take it. Has he ever told you why?"

"I asked him once. He said he had his reasons." She finished her coffee. "I trust him to tell me when he's ready."

* * *

><p>Clint knocked rather than letting himself into Natasha's apartment – or Natasha and Rogers' apartment. They'd had a brief conversation about letting another person into their building, which had gone something like, 'Hey, Clint, Steve's moving in with me, okay?' 'Uh, okay?' She'd never even brought up the fact that she'd had him over multiple times in direct violation of the rule against bringing other people to their place. Captain America apparently existed in a sphere above the rules.<p>

He did his best not to frown when the door opened. Natasha was wearing an oversize Army sweatshirt and loose pajama pants. She didn't bother with hello. "You have such resting bitch face. It's like meeting Angela Merkel at the door."

"I thought you liked Chancellor Merkel." He pulled the door closed behind him, following her toward the kitchen.

"I do. We've had some great conversations over the years. She's just got that whole sourpuss thing going when she's not thinking about her facial expression. It's like constant schadenfreude over the state of the world, while Germany cruises along the autobahn, unconcerned."

He accepted a beer she slid across the island to him. "Is it weird that you're pals with the Chancellor of Germany or that I don't find that weird at all?"

"It's whatever you want it to be."

"So, the usual." He clinked the neck of his bottle against hers. "Where's Captain Overprotective?"

"_Steve_ is picking up take-out. He should be back in an hour with dinner for three."

"An hour? Where'd you send him?"

"The Chinese place four blocks over. I told him to see how many scorpion bowls he could drink before impressing the owner into comping the meal." She dropped into the armchair beside the sofa, draping her legs over the arm. "So, I heard you dropped by earlier."

"Uh huh. SHIELD gets nervous when two top agents drop off the radar with no explanation."

"Steve just forgot to call in."

"Sure he did. Just like you forgot to mention you're into sleeping pills now."

She took a long swig of beer, probably not good to mix with her meds. "They were prescribed. I started having nightmares when we got back from Kazakhstan. The pills help."

"Where'd you get them? I know we're both blacklisted with Fleishman. You send Captain Valium in to score you some downers?"

"While Steve did see Dr. Fleishman on my behalf, it was only to get an outside referral. I needed…look, Clint, it's really none of your business what kind of medication I'm taking or which doctor I'm seeing."

"Nope. I just think it's a little funny that you didn't seem to need a doctor with magic pills to make you better until Captain Perfect…"

"Fuck the nicknames, Clint!" She finally dropped the pretense of comfort, swinging her legs to the floor as she leaned toward him, getting in his face. "If you've got a problem with my relationship with Steve, spit it out."

"You're different, Tash. At first I thought it was a good thing, but now…I don't know anymore." He finished his beer and slammed the bottle on the coffee table, noting that it was clear of the files he'd seen spread over it earlier in the day. "You're seeing a psychiatrist, right? That's this mystery doctor? You never needed that before."

"Maybe I did. Maybe it was easier to bottle everything up and pretend that missions like Kazakhstan ended when we flew out, that nothing could touch me if I didn't let it. But it's not like that, Clint. It's like a champagne cork – once it pops, there's no getting it back in."

"Then you end up empty."

"No! Steve…Steve makes me feel whole. Like there was something missing, but I never knew it because no one has ever loved me before."

Clint felt the words come out before he could stop them, "I love you."

"I love you, too, but we both know it's not the same thing. Steve is so…there's no pretense. He just loves me. I told him everything I did for the KGB and it didn't change how he felt about me. I didn't think that was possible, but it is and he…he's all the things that you and I could never be. He doesn't have the holes we do…oh, Clint, I wish you could find someone like Steve. I wish you could feel like I do now."

"What makes you think I never have?"

Natasha's eyes gleamed, curious. "Who was she?"

He closed his eyes, taking himself back to the day his fate had been sealed. "I heard the shots, two of them, so I knew I was too late to stop the assassination of the leaders of Uzbek protestors, but it almost didn't matter, because I had eyes on my real target. It was cold in Tashkent for May, only in the forties, and she had a puffy down jacket on, but I still remember how small she looked the first time I saw her. If I hadn't seen the rifle, I would have thought I'd hit the wrong rooftop. The only photo we had was blurry, in profile. It was the eyes that stayed my hand. I had my bow drawn, arrow at the ready as she was policing her brass, but there was a full moon that night and her eyes shone in the moonlight. There was so much pain in those eyes and I knew I could never hurt someone who was already hurting so much. So I stepped out of the shadows."

"Clint…"

"I made the right choice that night. I screwed up a bunch of other ones, but that night…I _knew_." He dropped to his knees in front of her, his pained, green-eyed beauty. "I know I was never the man you needed, that we could never…you are the best friend I have ever had. I can't lose you over something like you being happy with someone else, especially not _him_. God, you would fall in love with Captain America, just because it's so…I don't even know."

He dropped his head on her knees. He wanted to clutch her calves, pull himself up to meet her full lips, but he stayed where he was. She eventually began to run her hands through his hair. "Why? Why now? Why when it's too late?"

"I always thought we'd have forever. I guess we still do, just not how I thought. I'm sorry, Tash."

"Don't. Don't ever apologize for bringing me this far."

He looked up into eyes he no longer claimed as his own special right. "Too late to stay for dinner, huh?"

"Let's have another beer." She smiled. "Steve may surrender to the scorpion bowl yet."

They were fairly deep into the twelve-pack when Captain Take-out showed up with the food, completely uninebriated. He didn't question their giggling, accepting that they had settled things without a word passing between him and Tasha. Clint realized how much he would miss that as he drowned his sorrows in spring rolls and another beer.


	23. Because We Can Can Can

A/n: Hello faithful readers! And casual readers! Also, to people who clicked the wrong story and are becoming more and more confused about where Loki is! He's back on Asgard, so sorry for the mix-up. Anywho, just a tidge of **M Rated** content in the third or fourth bit of the chapter, and a slight pairing change that isn't a change at all but for the silliness of it. Babbling again. I could drink a case of you and still be on my feet.

* * *

><p>"Had a pleasant week?"<p>

Natasha nodded in response to Dr. Moses' greeting and set the KGB file on her desk. "You can have this back."

"Finished with it already?"

"Turns out I didn't really need it. I remember. I know what I've done." She sat without taking her jacket off. "And I told Steve."

"I take it he didn't leave you in a dramatic slamming of doors and cloud of dust?"

"We went to bed, stayed home from work and, um, took a bath together."

"Sounds like the best case scenario. So why do you look so disappointed? I'm sure you found a way to relieve the stress resulting from holding everything in, so that can't be it."

"Steve and I are fine. Better than fine." She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "I'm actually more concerned about an issue with my best friend at the moment. I think he wants to pretend it never happened, but it's one of those things that can't be unsaid once it's out there."

Dr. Moses nodded knowingly. "Agent Barton. Did he confess his love to you?"

"Okay, I expected you to know the first part, but…the second? Really?"

"Simple extrapolation. Not only is he your closest peer in terms of skill, he's also the person who essentially rescued you from your old life. Given what the two of you have been through together – and I do have access to your mission files, very impressive – I can't imagine that many things would cause something upsetting to arise between the two of you. So why haven't the two of you ever pursued a romantic relationship?"

"I offered, more than once, actually. Explicitly on one occasion." She was glad she hadn't mentioned that incident to Steve. "He always just said we should stay friends and keep things professional."

"So why did he reject your romantic interest when you were available, only to declare himself after you had clearly and irrevocably committed to another man?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Irrevocably?"

"Yes. You and Steve. But we're discussing you and Clint. Why do you think he waited until he was sure he couldn't have you to tell you he wanted you?"

"Clint doesn't set himself up to fail."

"Then…why?"

"Aren't you supposed to know the answer already?"

"You don't want to be spoon-fed. Let's think of it another way. Since you've known him, has Clint been in a long term relationship? Or has he been playing the field?"

"I've never seen him with the same woman for more than a month."

"And what about you? Anyone other than Steve last more than a few weeks?"

"No, which makes what he told me even stranger."

"It was more than just a simple, 'I love you.'"

"There's nothing simple about it. He knows I love him, but I told him that I wished he could find someone who made him feel the way I feel about Steve, and that's when he told me he already had and that it was me and that he fell in love with me the first time he saw my eyes and that's why he didn't kill me." Natasha wasn't aware of standing, but she had started to pace around the office at some point. She didn't stop as she went on, "He's has plenty of chances to tell me, times when it looked like we were both going to die within minutes and he never said anything, but over a couple of beers the night after I tell the love of my life all the terrible things I've done and somehow don't scare him off, my best friend feels the need to tell me that he's always been in love with me? I don't get it. And please don't just ask another question."

Dr. Moses smiled and nodded her infuriating nod. "Well, then allow me to suggest that it's possible that Clint was waiting for someone to take over the responsibility for saving you. With Steve firmly entrenched in that role, he was finally free to tell you a secret of his own that he'd been holding onto for years."

"But why did he tell me at all? He knows Steve and I are…irrevocable, did you say?"

"Perhaps I should be more thoughtful with my adjectives in the future. But I would suggest you have another conversation with Clint, _sans_ alcohol. Same time next week, then?"

* * *

><p>Steve reclined the leather seat of the private jet, getting comfortable for the short flight from DC to New York. Stark was annoying as heck, but it was hard to deny that the guy had style. And as far as 'missions' went, this was going to be the easiest thing he'd been asked to do since selling war bonds. Put on the suit, smile and wave. He didn't even have to punch Hitler this time. He closed his eyes and listened to the argument happening between his two travel companions.<p>

"I just think it's unfair. I mean, we're Avengers. We saved New York, too. We've got our own action figures coming out at this shindig. Why are we going along strictly as Captain America's security detail instead of getting equal billing?"

"Because everybody already knows who Steve is. Our real identities are still classified, in spite of the Internet's best efforts. It's bad enough people got photos and video of us during the Loki incident."

"Are you kidding? Have you seen the gif of me hitting that alien without even looking? Just over and over – no-look, zing, dead alien. I would be beating off beautiful ladies with a stick if I was allowed to admit that's me in that damn battle."

"Then they could return the beating when they found out what an ass you are. Besides, SHIELD has thousands of female employees who do know about the battle for you to sexually harass. You can't have gotten to all of them yet."

"You say that like SHIELD has some kind of supermodels-only hiring policy."

"And you wonder why Fury wants Steve representing the agency."

"Hill's really pretty." His comment was met with silence, so Steve opened his eyes and saw that both Natasha and Barton were staring at him. "What? The most beautiful woman at SHIELD may be taken, but I'm just pointing out that there are others." Natasha grinned at him; Barton grimaced. "Am I missing something yet again?"

"Let's just say that Maria Hill has been an impossible climb for Clint." Natasha winked, and Steve closed his eyes again, satisfied that she'd fill him in later.

"Harsh, Tasha. Can we return to bitching about this toy release bullshit?"

"I believe you were doing most of the bitching."

"Well, did you read the press kit? Not only am I the last one on the list of heroes, I'm just 'Hawkeye, the archer.' You're 'Black Widow, the sexy redheaded master spy and assassin.' At the very least, I should get to be 'Hawkeye, the sexy archer.'"

"At least you don't have to wear a wig for the press conference."

"Maybe I will, just for fun. I'll be the sexy redhead for once. Wake me up when we get there."

"We should just tie you up and leave you on the plane."

Barton let out a fake snore in response. Steve wrapped his arm around the only sexy redhead that interested him as she cuddled against him.

Several hours later, they were disembarking from a helicopter on the roof of Stark Tower. Steve held out his hand for Natasha as she stepped down, shouting, "I'm surprised Stark didn't put on his suit and carry us here from the airport."

"He's probably saving the theatrics for the press conference." She slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder and he followed her crouched run toward the doors.

Pepper Potts was waiting for them inside. "Captain Rogers, Agents Romanoff and Barton! Welcome to Avengers' Tower. Fortunately, we're in a little better condition than the last time you were here." She looped her arm through Natasha's, linking their elbows and drawing her away. "I'm just going to steal Natasha for a few minutes. JARVIS, would you escort these gentlemen to their suites?"

Natasha gave Steve a wide-eyed, somewhat concerned look, but said nothing as she handed him her bag and allowed Pepper to guide her away. A smooth British voice caused both Steve and Barton to jump. "Captain Rogers, Agent Barton. If you would enter the elevator, I will drop you at your floors. If there is anything further, do not hesitate to ask for my assistance, as I am always available." There was a muted chime. "Captain Rogers, we have arrived at the suite you will be sharing with Agent Romanoff."

"Yeah, thanks JARVIS. Later Barton." He heard Barton asking the computer voice about wigs as the elevator doors closed. He was left by himself in a wide hallway with only one door off of it. A small shield and red hourglass were the only markings on it. As Steve entered the first room, he wondered if he was going to have to start being just a little bit nicer to Tony Stark.

* * *

><p>"Oh my God! You and Steve!"<p>

Natasha tried to return Pepper's unexpected hug. "Yeah. Me and Steve."

"Sorry, I know it's old news for you guys, but it's so exciting! I mean, Captain America!" Pepper finally let go of everything but her hand, which she used to drag her to a couch in the enormous living area. "So, you have to tell me everything. I asked Tony, but he was only interested in finding out if you and Steve were sleeping together so he could win his bet with Bruce, but that seems like forever ago! So…share!"

"What exactly do you want to know?"

"Oh, come _on_. How did you fall in love? It is love, right? What's he like in the bedroom? Was he really a virgin or was that just the guys being idiots? Did the super soldier serum make _everything_ bigger?"

"I'm not going to read this in _Vogue_ later, am I?"

"What, no! This is just between girlfriends and…you read _Vogue_?"

Natasha suddenly wasn't sure what was making her so nervous. "Well, yes, it's love. He moved in with me about a month ago. He's amazing in bed, physically and otherwise."

Pepper grinned conspiratorially. "Otherwise?"

"I just mean he's very…attentive. With amazing stamina. And he learns quickly."

"So you were his first!"

"So?"

"No, it's just so romantic. Like destiny needed him to fight in World War II, but knew he'd been born too early, so he ended up frozen for seventy years just so he could wake up in time to be with you." She sighed happily. "Imagine it as a Ryan Gosling movie."

"Um, Pepper, I don't mean to be rude, but…"

"Oh, right, sorry. I really just wanted to check in with you about plans for tonight. We've got tickets for _La Traviata_ at the Met for eight, then dinner afterwards, some new place Tony keeps talking about. If you and Steve didn't bring clothes, we can take care of that, no problem. I'll have some options here before you get back from the press conference."

Natasha was feeling a little overwhelmed, an uncomfortable feeling for her in and of itself. "What about Clint?"

"Oh, he told me he hates the opera, so he's going to the Rangers' game with Happy. Also, he said that I should have gotten ballet tickets because you're a big fan, but I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all." Assisting in the planning of a double-date with Tony and Pepper – yet another reason for her to be annoyed with Clint. "Verdi is…fine."

* * *

><p>Steve fiddled with gloves of his Captain America uniform, sitting in one of the plush leather chairs in the bedroom of his and Natasha's suite. She was in the bathroom, doing her makeup and hair, which was actually a brown wig he didn't particularly like. He glanced at the fake picture ID that had been sitting on the table in the front hallway.<p>

"We're gonna be late if you don't…" He called, realizing too late that Natasha was standing right in front of him, having crossed the thick pile carpet silently in spite of her heels. He allowed his eyes to rise slowly from her feet to her face. She was wearing the same austere black suit from their trip to the Pentagon a while back, with a silky purple shirt underneath. He decided he really didn't like the long brunette curls on her. "Who is Natalie Rushman?"

"Me." She rolled her eyes, plucking the ID from his hand. "I was undercover for SHIELD at Stark Industries a few years ago and ended up working as Stark's personal assistant."

"So _that's_ why he always calls you Natalie! I just assumed he was being a jerk and you were ignoring him."

"He is, and I am." Her face was stony as she looked at him.

"Oh, I didn't mean…"

A smile cracked her expression. "Relax, Steve. You know, I like your other suit, but I've missed seeing you in the stars and stripes." He stood, feeling just a little more pride in his appearance under her approving glance. "How…accessible are you when you've got this on?"

"What are you…" She left no doubt in his mind with her sudden grasp on him. "Oh, Nat, don't do that to me now."

"You're just so tempting." She rose to her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "Maybe later you can leave the suit on while we…"

Her final suggestion was enough to get her pushed up against the wall with her skirt pushed up over her hips a few seconds later. "Stockings with garters? Are you trying to make me lose my mind?" He had just unclipped his belt when she grabbed his hands. "Nat…"

"We have to stop. Captain America can't meet his adoring public covered in sex stains."

"Oh, you are not getting off that easily, Natalie Rushman." He fiddled with the tresses of her brunette wig as he carried her over to the bed in the other arm, ignoring her protests. "Just don't tell Natasha about this," he added with a wink, rolling what could only generously be called panties down her legs. She shivered as he kissed her inner thighs to give himself a chance to remove his gloves.

"Steve, you…" He buried his face between her legs, allowing his tongue a few sloppy passes before he started to work her more sensitive spots. She was squirming and squealing beneath his mouth when he slipped a finger inside her. "Oh!" Her cries increased as he added a second finger, working to match the rhythm of his hand and tongue. He knew he'd found the right combination as her nails dug into his scalp. He drew a few more strangled cries from her before a full-throated scream accompanied a physical eruption of bucking hips and clenching muscles. He didn't stop until her screams became whimpers. He chuckled and looked up at her. "You taste just like my girlfriend."

She gave him a playful swat on the side of his head. She took a few minutes to clean up, disappearing into the bathroom again.

They still beat Stark to the common room. He was having some kind of major conflict over which tie brought out his eyes best, according to Pepper. Steve couldn't help but smile at her. "He should've just worn his suit."


	24. Believe Me Natalie

Natasha folded her arms over her chest, leaning against the wall in the back of large press room of Avengers' Tower – the name still sounded odd to her. Everything else about the event screamed 'Stark,' from the champagne flutes to the blinding flash of photography. She was glad to have been relegated to a position far from the press of the crowd. Clint, who was standing beside her, having substituted a pair of dark sunglasses for the wig he claimed to have wanted, seemed less pleased about the event. Although Stark was still waxing poetic about the features of the Avengers action figures, the focus had long since shifted to Steve, posing for pictures in his full Captain America suit, shield included. From his body language, Natasha could tell that he was putting on a show for the cameras. Still, there were an awful lot of women around him…

She didn't jump when Clint whispered in her ear, "Wishing Black Widow had made an appearance?"

"I think everything is going well." She kept her expression neutral as Steve posed with two grinning women holding his flexed biceps. "Insulted by the way the crowd laughed at Hawkeye's archery demonstration?"

"So he's got a weak elastic. That's a design flaw, not the poor plastic guy's fault. At least he's got good hair."

"Pathetic."

"Okay, just because people were all gaga over Black Widow and her flashing wrists…"

"What is wrong with you?"

"What? You're obviously the more popular action figure, probably because of the tits. I can be a man and admit that."

"_That_ you can admit?" She huffed loudly, drawing the momentary attention of a cameraman who was immediately redirected by his female producer toward Steve. His fitted t shirt conformed nicely to his body as he lifted his camera with a final look in her direction. She smiled kindly at him. No matter how many cameras a man lifted, he was never going to be able to compete with Captain America. Honestly, who could? Natasha shook her head, trying not to be distracted by Steve's continued posing at the request of fans.

"Does he practice in front of the mirror to get those muscles to pop just right?"

"Seriously, Clint?"

"What'd I do?" She had to give him a small amount of credit for recognizing that he wasn't in trouble for the comment he'd just made, but for something deeper.

Getting him to talk about it, however…she recalled an interrogation during which she had learned the proper technique for tooth extraction. It was an oddly satisfying sensation when a mandibular molar popped up between your cowhorn forceps, just like it was supposed to. She briefly considered how difficult it would be to start such a procedure here and now. She opted for hissing, "Oh, like our conversation the other night just slipped your mind?"

"Hey, I've got lots to think about!"

Natasha dropped her voice as low as she could, "You told me you fell in love with me the first time you saw me!"

"It was the first time I saw your eyes!"

"Ha!"

"No." Clint pushed up his sunglasses, as if covering his own eyes would do the trick. "So you've got pretty eyes. Big deal. Lots of women have 'em. I could be going out with one of them tonight if Pepper hadn't gotten me hockey tickets, which isn't a terrible substitute. If she'd found me a date, we'd probably be stuck at the opera with you guys."

"_So_ not the point."

"Then tell me what is."

"Why?"

"Why? Because I want to know."

She granted him one of her more dramatic eyerolls. "Why tell me you love me when you know it's impossible?"

"I didn't…it wasn't…you have to admit that you didn't exactly keep things slow with Rogers."

"So what? You only had, what, years before that?"

"That…that…that's not the same."

"Yeah, because you told me you weren't interested while Steve can't tell me enough that he…"

"Stop. I don't need to hear about how he's the love of your life and can't keep his hands off you or any of that crap."

"Oh, and here I assumed you already figured that out. Really, though. Why did you wait, Clint?"

"Like you didn't have enough dates before Captain Action Figure came along."

"I'm not joking. You know I made myself available to you before Steve and I…" she trailed off, wondering how it would have worked out if she had been in a relationship with Clint when Steve had come into her life. Some hypotheticals were best not considered. She turned away from Clint, returning her attention to Steve's smile, though it wasn't fixed on her. "Clint, you I practically threw myself at you and you rejected me."

"Tasha…"

"Will you just _tell_ me so we can move on and go back to being us?"

"You want the truth? Fine." He turned toward her and yanked his sunglasses off so she could see his eyes. "Yeah, I was totally up for it when you offered me sex, more than you'll ever know, but I knew that's all you'd end up wanting from me. And I knew it wasn't gonna be enough. I also knew that I was never gonna find a better partner than you, so I opted for being friends. Would I have done things differently if I knew Rogers was gonna come along and…honestly, I wouldn't change a thing about the past few years. I like knowing I can rely on you to do what's best for me, even if that involves punching me in the head really hard."

"Then why did you…?"

"Because I could finally get it out there without worrying about the consequences, okay? It's just something that I think about sometimes." He put his sunglasses back on and turned away, tucking his hands into his pockets. "So there you go. Didn't think you'd take it so serious. We good?"

"We'll be fine." She wasn't entirely sure that the matter was settled to her satisfaction, but this was hardly the time or place to get into a shouting match with Clint. She'd only brought it up here because he didn't have the option to run away. She decided some teasing was in order to set them on the right track. "For the record, you really missed something spectacular by not sleeping with me when you had the chance."

"Like the fact that you routinely flip around in a skintight catsuit doesn't serve as a constant reminder."

They both laughed. She hoped it was just the acoustics in the room that made it sound so forced.

* * *

><p>Steve woke quickly, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings and beginning a threat assessment when he realized that Natasha wouldn't be curled up beside him, sleeping soundly, if there were any threats that needed assessing. He rolled from his back to his side and pulled her into his chest. She snuggled against him reflexively, not waking. The morning light coming into their bedroom in the Avengers' Tower shone softly on her silky red curls, which he couldn't help touching. He knew he would be attracted to her regardless of hair color, but she had really put him over the top when she'd taken her wig off after returning from the press conference, shaking the volume back into her own hair.<p>

He grinned as he thought back to what had occurred immediately afterward. He had been in the process of taking off his gloves when she had looked at him incredulously. "What are you doing?"

"Changing. Aren't we having dinner with Pepper and Stark?"

"Not for a couple of hours." She had already shed her jacket and was in the process of unbuttoning her shirt. "And I seem to remember Captain America promising to keep his uniform on for me." She had unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, facing him in her lingerie and heels with her hands on her hips. "You were so eager to please your fans downstairs. Surely you're not going to disappoint me now?"

"Even the gloves?"

"Gloves, boots, shield, hood, the whole package. Actually, give me your shield." The image of her rocking beneath him on the floor as she sat in the bowl of his shield while he made love to her in his full uniform was one that was going to stick with him a good long while. They'd taken a more conventional if no less pleasurable route after returning from their opera and dinner date with Stark and Pepper.

He smiled and pushed the covers down past her waist. The sudden chill drew a sleepy murmur from her as she drew even closer to him. He watched her small movements: the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed peacefully, the interplay of muscles under creamy skin as she shifted her arm, the slight curve of her full lips as she smiled in her sleep. Watching her sleep slowly started to lose its appeal as his arousal hardened to the point of being uncomfortable. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Natasha?" She shifted again in her sleep, pressing her body against him more fully, increasing his need to wake her up. "Natasha?"

"Mmm." She rolled away from him, forcing him to chase her across the bed.

He gently settled his hand on her hip and shook. "Natasha?"

"You must not be all that turned on." Her voice was so quiet he wasn't entirely sure he'd heard it.

"Nat?"

"Acting like that makes me think you'd be just as happy to go jerk off in the shower."

"God forbid." He slipped both arms around her, spooning her tightly as he kissed her neck. "Exactly how far do you expect me to go while you pretend to be asleep?"

"Well, don't just start shoving things in places, but a little caress," she guided one of his hands between her legs, "or a light squeeze," she guided his other hand to one of her breasts, "wouldn't be an unwelcome way to wake up."

She moaned softly as he increased his efforts in the caressing and squeezing departments, adding gentle nibbles to the neck as his own special twist. Within thirty seconds, she was reaching for him. "Completely awake, are we?"

They both jumped at the sound of a third voice. "Pardon me, but Mr. Stark is requesting your presence in the main kitchen. I have been authorized to tempt you with freshly made Belgian waffles."

Natasha, as usual, was the first to gather herself enough to reply, "Not nearly tempting enough. Tell him we'll be there in an hour, JARVIS. And that if he interrupts us before then, medical science will need years to advance to the point of piecing him back together."

"Very good, Agent Romanoff."

Although confident that he could manage it, Steve still asked, "An hour?"

Natasha kissed him over her shoulder. "Well, we're going to need a shower, right?"

An hour and a half later, Steve was amazed he had the energy to walk to the dining table where Pepper was sitting, alone, bathrobe draped loosely over pajamas. He pulled out a chair for Natasha, which she accepted with a smile. He sank into a chair next to her, saying, "Good morning, Pepper. Where's Stark?"

"Oh, he's never up this early, unless he's still up from the night before. I doubt we'll see him before noon."

"Then why did JARVIS say…"

"He probably programmed an alarm or something. He's a terrible host. Sorry about that."

He accepted a cup of coffee Natasha poured from the carafe on the table. She sipped her own coffee with a satisfied sound and started picking at a fruit plate in front of them. Steve looked up and down the table. "Uh, I don't mean to be rude, but your computer said there were waffles."

Pepper raised her eyes toward the ceiling. "JARVIS! What have I told you about lying?"

"I apologize, Ms. Potts, but Mr. Stark's commands do override your admirable intentions. I believe a box of something called Eggos are in the freezer if Captain Rogers is not satisfied with the current spread."

"No, no, I wasn't trying to, uh," Steve looked around in confusion, "where am I talking to?"

"JARVIS is just sort of here." Pepper waved her hand vaguely in the air. "Everywhere, really. I find it's easier just to sort of go with it. He's really quite pleasant once you get used to him."

JARVIS' no doubt humble acknowledgement was drowned out by Stark's sudden arrival. He was brandishing a newspaper, something even Steve found a bit old fashioned, just in a good way. "Morning, all. Guess what, lovebirds! You made Page Six! 'Captain America finds true love?'"

Steve furrowed his brows. "What's so significant about…" he trailed off as he realized that both women were shushing him.

"Listen." He held open the paper with a flourish. "'It appears that America's favorite super soldier's colors may, in fact, be red, white and green – as in the hair, complexion and eye color of the woman he was spotted smooching while out on the town last night with billionaire philanthropist Tony Stark after the launch party for the official Avengers toy line, produced by Stark Industries.' Well, they forgot genius, but I guess…uh…oh, here we go, 'Sources close to the couple say the woman's name is Natalie and that she and the blond Captain Adonis held hands throughout dinner at new hotspot _Spindlar_. At this point, we can neither confirm nor deny that she is the redheaded Black Widow of Avengers fame.' Well, that's a barely worthwhile article. Doesn't even mention what Pepper or Natalie were wearing, which I'm sure would interest a certain sector of the population. And I'm barely a footnote!" He grabbed a coffee Pepper had just prepared for him and set on the table. "Just so you kids know, sources do not include me or Pepper and are probably limited to the waitress from last night and people at the paper's office with zooming tools comparing pictures from last night's paparazzi horde and the whole Chitauri thing."

"Should I have brought my bow?" Barton chose that moment to emerge from the elevator, looking bleary in spite of the fact that he was fully clothed, including what looked like a brand new Rangers jersey. "Because I'm totally on point and did not just get in. Hey, Stark, did you know your driver's name is Happy? How funny is that?"

Steve moved to catch Barton as he collapsed forward onto the couch, but Natasha's hand on his forearm was enough to keep him in his chair. "Just let him sleep it off. Stark, is there anything about the toy launch in the paper?"

Steve was pleased to see, when he finally got a chance to see the paper, that the picture of himself and Natasha was actually kind of sweet. He leaned toward her so she could see it as well. "So, what does Captain America's true love think?"

She smiled at him in a way that made his stomach flip. "I think…we should seriously consider shaving off Clint's eyebrows while he's passed out."

Stark nearly knocked over his coffee as he jumped out of his chair. "Knew you had to be more fun that you usually act, Natalie! I'll get a razor!"

Natasha took advantage of the momentary confusion to kiss Steve with far more passion than had been captured in the photograph. He was still thinking about the flavor of coffee and Natasha as she and Stark moved in on Barton.

* * *

><p>Maria Hill didn't bother sitting down at her desk when she came into the office that morning, instead waiting for the inevitable… Her intercom button beeped and she tapped the reply button without waiting for the summons, "I'll be right there, Director."<p>

Fury was looking out the window when she arrived, a sure sign that he was displeased about current developments. "I take you know what this is about?"

"Dave from Public Relations called me bright and early this morning." She sat in the chair facing the desk without being asked. "The Post has a surprisingly navigable website."

"Uh huh. And did Dave from PR know more than the New York tabloids about why Captain Rogers was making out with Agent Romanoff on a major metropolitan street last night?"

"Well, to be fair it seems to be only a brief kiss in a single photograph. The rest are just the two of them arriving at a restaurant, then leaving it later. Stark is the only one mugging for the cameras, as usual."

"They've already made the Black Widow connection."

"We could do a press release with SHIELD's official fraternization regulations, imply that we wouldn't accept a relationship between two of our agents without actually coming out and saying that we've got a full-blown love affair between two of our top assets that we've explicitly chosen to ignore."

Fury sighed heavily. "You know why I assigned Agent Thirteen to provide security as Rogers' neighbor?"

"To…provide security?"

"All-American girl meets America's super soldier…that would have made a nice narrative, one we could feed to the press."

"If I may speak freely, sir, that sounds like the worst matchmaking plan short of…well, most of the ones I'm thinking of wouldn't be legal in this country."

He shrugged. "It was never anything official. Just something I thought could use a chance. Used to be I could make something like that happen and nobody'd even know they'd gotten a push."

"Sir, have you ever sparred with Romanoff?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I've got a good five inches and…a bit of weight on her, but she can still throw me around like I'm nothing. I don't think you _can_ push her. And as for Captain Rogers, well…"

"Unless you're trying to tell me that you've been slacking off on training since I promoted you, I really don't see the point of this, Hill."

"Sir, I'm just saying that Romanoff and Rogers are the classic case of the unstoppable force and the immovable object. If this is the worst we have to deal with from them, that's probably our good luck."

Fury had started to rub his head over his missing eye, a sure sign that things would get worse before they got better. "Are you aware of Romanoff's legal status?"

"I believe that argument was tabled as long as she remains under the aegis of SHIELD." Hill brushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "You have to admit that her relationship with Rogers could potentially solve that issue."

"Did you have to put the idea of them getting married in my head, Hill? Don't I have enough damn problems at the moment?"

"Apologies, sir. I assume you're referring to the Krakow situation?"

"Make a note that this is what we get when we trust Interpol to 'deal with it.' STRIKE is back in Cambodia, so tell Rogers, Romanoff and Barton they're working this one. Tell them they can take Iron Man if he feels like it."


	25. Journey to the Past

Steve hit the button to raise the rear ramp of the quinjet after dropping the prisoner in a seat for Barton and Natasha to secure. Stark had made the right call begging off this one, saying it was the wrong time of year to appreciate Krakow. Really, the way the mission had gone down, only one of them should have had to do any Polish appreciation. After confirming he was alone in his miserable garret, Steve and Barton had watched from a grimy window while Natasha had slipped up behind the target and injected him with a syringe of tranquilizers. They'd cleared the small loft of papers – the man didn't seem to own any electronics – and completed the operation well ahead of their extraction time, giving Natasha time to wrap up the prisoner's eyes and ears to prevent him from seeing or hearing anything if the tranquilizers wore off in transit. She had been acting a little strangely since their briefing before the mission, but brushed Steve off when he'd asked about it.

He approached her now, reaching out to steady himself as the jet lifted off with the slightest jerk. In addition to the shackles and leg irons, she had used tape from the first aid kit to secure his hands palm to palm, leaving only enough room for a clip on his index finger to monitor his vital signs.

"I think we've got some extra rolls of gauze if you wanna mummify the guy completely, Tash," Barton commented from his seat closer to the cockpit. She shot him a dirty look, but Steve had to agree with the archer's sarcasm at the moment.

"Nat, I don't think he's going anywhere. You patted him down yourself. He's…"

There was an almost wild glint in her eyes when she looked up. "If either of you had to restrain me, how far would you go before you were sure, absolutely sure that I wasn't going to get away?"

As Barton tried to protest that he would never tie Natasha up without her permission in writing, the pieces suddenly clicked into place for Steve. "You know this guy."

"I did. A long time ago." She finished her task by taping down the improvised blindfold and clamping a pair of noise-cancelling headphones over the prisoner's already-blocked ears. "That will have to do for now."

She sat beside Steve, who immediately stopped exchanging significant looks with Barton. "You, uh, okay?"

"Yeah."

"My forehead itches."

He ignored Barton's complaint, leaning down to kiss Natasha briefly as he looked her over to confirm that she wasn't hurt. She returned his kiss in a preoccupied way. "I'm fine, Steve. We shouldn't in front of him."

"He's not gonna wake up and I think you've got him covered if he does." Barton was scratching furiously at his shaved browline. "You shot him up with enough juice to knock out a bear. We could give him a couple of piercings and he wouldn't wake up."

Natasha's head shot up from where she had been getting comfortable on Steve's shoulder. "Clint, don't you dare."

"Come on, Tasha, this story is hilarious!"

"You're going to tell my incredibly strong, extremely protective boyfriend about the time I was unconscious and you…"

"I was only going to tell him the part about the tranquilizer darts!" Barton winked and Steve thought it may have been intended for him. Natasha was certainly distracted from her concern about their prisoner for the moment. He gave Barton a quick nod while holding Natasha gently in her seat. "Right, so we were in San Diego, chasing this hitman for one of the Mexican cartels who'd also been freelancing on his off days. Real bad dude. Anyway, we tracked him down, car chase, firefight, movie-quality shit going down. Eventually, I get one of his tires and he wrecks, so we're chasing him on foot now. Suddenly, there's all these fences and wires and, like, moats. Then, bam! Zebras!"

"Zebras?"

"Yeah, the dumbass was running through the damn San Diego Zoo. Also, do not fuck with zebras. Anyway, we're still chasing him and we corner him in this outdoor amphitheater and I tackle him, yell for Tasha to help me and she suddenly collapses. I practically brain the guy to knock him out so I can help her, because I think he's called in backup she's seriously wounded, but then there's lights and people shouting for me to get my hands up and…long story short, San Diego PD and zoo security had found us and one of the zookeepers had hit her in the ass with a couple of tranquilizer darts. She was pissed when she woke up."

"I was more pissed about the six new piercings I work up with."

"They all healed over."

Steve kept a discreet eye on the prisoner, whose vitals never wavered during the entire flight back to the Triskelion. He was fairly certain that, despite Barton's efforts, most of Natasha's attention was also fixed on the prisoner. The transfer to the subbasement interrogation and detention level was uneventful, although Director Fury did meet them in the main hangar to ensure successful completion of the mission, further confirming Steve's suspicions that there was something he was missing. He stood beside Natasha as she watched two security guards on a monitor undo her careful bindings, shackling the still-unconscious man to the steel table. He took a deep breath and asked, "So, how do you know him?"

"KGB."

"I figured." He moved to stand behind her, rubbing her shoulders and neck. He hadn't felt her so tense in some time. "I understand if you don't want to talk about it with me, but maybe you should schedule…"

To his surprise, she interrupted, "Do you remember that group photo? The one from when I was ten?"

"Of course."

"I told you that everyone in it was dead? Except for one I wasn't sure about?"

He wracked his brain for a moment, forcing a name from his memory as proof that he had listened, that he had retained the pain she had honored him by sharing. "Va…Vasily?"

"You remembered." He felt her lean into his chest. He kept his hands on her shoulders in spite of his urge to embrace her. "He was sent to a Siberian gulag after…he was in love with another girl in our unit, Oksana. She was in the photo, too. She died in the tunnels at Semipalatinsk. It was…well, it wasn't my fault she died, but I was there. And I was the one who brought back her personal effects, which ended up including a love note from Vasily. If I had just looked at what I was taking off her body, he may have been spared…" She waved her hand in the general direction of the cell, somewhere beyond the monitors. "I don't know. It's…I grew up with Vasily, for lack of a better phrase. I suppose this is how people feel at their high school reunions."

"Not quite, Ma'am," one of the guards monitoring the security station muttered. Steve admired Natasha's restraint as she halted a move toward one of her knives.

He stepped toward the guard and tapped him on the shoulder, causing the man to jump. "When will he wake up?"

"Oh, Captain." The guard's relief that he hadn't been stung by the Black Widow was visible. "Um, probably not for a few hours, according to medical."

"We'll be back before then." He steered Natasha toward the elevators before she could argue. When they were safely contained, he said, "You said Barton gave you six piercings?"

"I'd really rather not get into it."

Steve turned her into him and pressed against her, whispering in her ear, "What did he pierce?"

"My eyebrow," she pointed to the spot and he kissed it gently, "my nose," his lips brushed the rim of her nostril, "my bottom lip," he added some suction to this kiss, "my tongue," this one lasted until the elevator announced their arrival on the level of the locker rooms.

He grabbed her upper arm as she tried to exit the elevator. "That was only four."

"I can't let you kiss the other two here. It was a matching set." She pecked his lips and headed toward the women's locker room.

Steve discovered that Barton had wisely not chosen to hang around to shower. Wily bastard.

* * *

><p>After a long shower and sauna, Natasha felt more capable of facing her past. She slipped into a fresh catsuit, leaving off all but two bladed weapons the guards on the interrogation level would never think to check for. There were some men who would be either intimidated or intoxicated by the outfit, but she knew Vasily wouldn't be one. It was still more comfortable to face him as the Black Widow than as herself.<p>

To her surprise, it was Fury rather than Steve waiting for her outside the locker room. As if anticipating her question, he said, "Rogers is already downstairs, though he did ask me about the San Diego mission. I assume Barton is in for some pain at some point?"

"I'll try to talk him down."

"Whatever. I just wanted to see if you're up for this interrogation."

"Do I look like I'm wearing civvies?" She stepped into the elevator and hit the appropriate button. "There won't be a problem, Director."

"I know."

"Then why ask?"

Fury didn't get off when they arrived at the detention level. "I'd say I was just doing my job, but I know you're good at sniffing out lies." He nodded as the doors closed.

Steve was standing at the security station at relaxed attention in a t shirt and fatigues. She would have considered suggesting they take a break in one of the unused cells if she hadn't known how well monitored the entire level was. She gave him a nod of acknowledgment instead and leaned toward the image on the monitors. "Has he woken up yet?"

"Hasn't moved since you brought him in, Ma'am," a nervous guard answered.

"Translator ready?"

A severe woman with a tight bun stood from a chair in the corner and nodded brusquely. "I've been waiting some time. Shall we?"

"You're here for transcription. The guards will set you up."

"Excuse me, but I was under the impression that the prisoner spoke Russian."

"And English, and French, and any other number of languages needed." Natasha didn't specify what the languages would be needed _for_. "Are you good for anything but Russian?"

The woman pressed her lips into a tight line, but nodded. "I'll just set up here, then, shall I?"

Natasha didn't look at Steve as she entered the cell block, walking past men and women who had no idea where they were and hadn't for months; SHIELD prisoners were notoriously hard to place in normal prisons, including Supermax facilities and Guantanamo. There were rarely trials for these people. She didn't feel all that bad about putting any of them down here. Hell, if not for Clint, she could be rotting here under the Potomac herself. She passed by the cells without looking at any of the inmates, though security protocols prevented them from seeing her no matter how hard they looked.

The interrogation cells were placed beyond the highest security prisoners to prevent escapes of unclassified inmates. Anyone who got past the shackles and armed guards would have to pass a gauntlet of automated weapons designed to cause maximum casualties with minimum intervention. She paused for a guard stationed at the door to scan her retina before entering the small room. The interrogation rooms were designed to be uncomfortable, piping in the water and the odor of the river to appear as if it were leaking through the concrete. Natasha sat in the chair across from the unconscious prisoner, breathed through her mouth, put her feet up on the table and waited.

The change in his breathing was barely audible when he woke, but she wasn't fooled. She waited ten minutes to allow him to think he had the upper hand before saying, in Russian, "Still going by Vasily Zaytsev? Trying to claim a little heroic ancestry in spite of your laughable sniper skills?"

He lifted his head slowly, blinking at her in the bright fluorescent light. He pulled at the chains restraining his arms and legs before saying, "Vasily Vasilievich has been the only name anyone has called me for some time now. I never knew my father, so I took myself as my patronymic. Fitting, if you ask me." He finally stopped searching the room for an escape, as she would have done, to ask, "Tell me, Natalia Alianovna, have you ever learned if you had a father?"

"Considering they didn't manage to clone a sheep until the mid-nineties, I can't imagine it happened another way."

"But what else would you say? You are with the Americans now, yes?"

"Yes."

"You are honest because you know our KGB comrades would have tortured me for sport rather than taken me peaceably for humane interrogation."

"I wouldn't call it 'peaceable,' Vasily. I would simply call you an easy mark. And whether it remains humane depends on you."

"I suppose I did miss a sizable portion of training when I was shipped to Irkutsk Oblast. You know, our gulag was not far from where we played The Game near Lake Baikal. I remember the time when we were young and you slaughtered a _nerpa_ to save us from starving."

"You think that will help you now?" She tried not to think of the seal's wide, innocent eyes as she had clubbed it to death, instead tapping her fingernails on the table. "Reminding me that I saved your life at twelve?"

"I suppose not. How old were we when you watched Oksana die? Fifteen? Sixteen?"

"Sixteen, as I'm sure you remember."

"How could I forget? The Black Widow emerged from the tunnels of Semipalatinsk, top scorer, as usual. My Ksyusha was left for dead in the radiation laboratory."

Natasha flinched inwardly at the diminutive, but showed no external emotion. "Oksana was distracted, telling me about a young man she was planning to meet when we returned to base. I assumed she had seduced a wealthy Muscovite, as we had been assigned to do. It was not my responsibility to cover for your relationship, had I known about it."

"Nor was it your responsibility to keep her alive during The Game, I suppose."

"Not at all."

"Yet you follow the Americans' orders, bringing me here alive. Why?"

"You know something useful, Vasily. It is the only reason I used a syringe instead of a .22 when I came up behind you."

"When was that? Today? Yesterday?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Who knows?"

"I know. A weak ploy. Still, I know one even weaker that has been known to work."

"Oh? And what is that?"

He kept his mouth closed for a second longer than he should have, making her lunge across the table a second later than she should have. The poison hidden in the false crown on which he had bitten down was fast acting, sending him into foaming convulsions before a nurse stationed with the security team could intervene. Natasha swiped an unopened bottle of water from the guard station as she stalked toward the elevators, Steve on her heels.

"He said something before he died. You were asking him something and he answered. What was it?"

"I asked him who he was working for. You heard him, just like I did." She muttered in Russian, "Гидра."

"Nat…"

"Hydra. He said, Hydra."

"We're going straight to Fury."

"Which elevator button do you think I pressed, Steve?"

She tried to relax in his arms for the rest of their ride to the top floor of the Triskelion, but couldn't manage it.


	26. Always on My Mind

Steve lay in bed, seething. He kept trying to tell himself that there was no reason for him to be so furious. Hydra. Goddamn Hydra! It had been one word uttered, in Russian, by a dying man, under duress from his unexpected capture and interrogation. Now it was three in the morning and Steve was only getting angrier, which was saying a lot, considering he'd been thrown out of Director Fury's office, albeit fairly politely, earlier in the day. Fury just hadn't wanted to listen to Steve's concerns after the first hour of so-called ranting.

Hill's patience had lasted almost two hours, allowing Steve to pace circles around her office while he talked and she did something on her computer. She had eventually told him he could stay and continue arguing with no one because she had a meeting to get to.

He had opted for searching out Natasha, who had disappeared to observe Vasily's autopsy before Fury had tossed him out. He didn't even know the name of the doctor or assistant he had lectured about World War II as they had proceeded with their work. Natasha had eventually escorted him out of the autopsy lab and down to the garage, allowing him to further enlighten her about the threat presented by Hydra, especially given SHIELD's project to develop Hydra-style weapons from the Tesseract. He'd never even followed up with that with Fury after the incident in New York! He nearly grabbed Natasha to wake her and tell her, but thought better of it. She had been unusually quiet since he'd found her this afternoon, which he hadn't noticed until around an hour ago when she declared that she'd also had enough for the day and rolled over to go to sleep.

And he was mad about that, too, which was totally unfair after the couple of days she'd had. He couldn't help how much he wanted everyone to understand what a serious, dangerous threat Hydra presented to SHIELD and the world. He had _seen_ it. He had _been there_. They had to _listen_!

Natasha suddenly rolled back over and said, "Alright, that's enough."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Steve, you're so tense the bed is vibrating."

He took a deep breath and tried to relax. "I just can't understand why nobody cares that this Russian guy with every reason to turn on the KGB says he's working for a rogue Nazi faction that hasn't existed since 1945. I mean, why would he say, 'Hydra,' with his dying breath just to screw with us? How would he even know to say it? And what are the chances that he just picked that random word? If Hydra is back…"

"We won't find out if your plan is to yell at everyone until they agree with you just to shut you up," she snapped.

He opened his mouth. Then closed it.

"I get that Hydra _was_ your war and that it freaks you right the hell out to think they might be back, but you don't have to be a complete dick about it." She pushed herself up to sit against the headboard. "I mean, I only had to interrogate someone I grew up with, that I sort of got sent to prison in Siberia when we were sixteen, then watch him commit suicide right in front of me."

"I…"

"And, just so you know, I don't think Vasily was even in the gulag all that long, because he didn't have any tattoos."

"You…what?"

"Tattoos are a huge part of Russian prison culture. They let other prisoners know who you are, where you've been, what you've done. It doesn't track that he wouldn't have _any_."

"Natasha…"

"Either he escaped – unlikely – or the KGB took him back and didn't tell the rest of us because that's the kind of thing they would do. And the papers we collected from his hole in Krakow were all over the place. Different languages, arms, drugs, tax documents…there was nothing coherent about them. And nothing that pointed to Hydra, although I wasn't thinking about that when I looked them over so maybe I'll see something different if I review them in that light or if Research picked up something I missed." She exhaled loudly. "Sorry, I just needed to get that out. Go back to what you were saying."

"It…" he looked at her carefully, trying to determine if she was just appeasing him, "it's not important."

"Yes, it is." She scooted back down and wrapped her arm around his chest. "And I am sorry for yelling at you just now. I mean, we've spent our entire relationship dealing with my past and I can't even give you a day to talk about yours? I take back what I said about you being a dick." She gave him a squeeze. "God, I really don't deserve you."

He slipped his arm around her shoulders. "I thought we were past that."

"I'm reminded of it every so often, but don't think that gets you off the hook. I'm still hanging onto you like a rusty bear trap."

He couldn't think of an appropriately witty reply, so he just held her tighter. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, he said, "We have talked about my past, it's just that most of it was pretty good. Hell, for the most part, the War was like a big adventure for me. I was just a kid from Brooklyn, living my dream of serving my country. I mean, it was still fighting and everything that goes along with that, but we were really accomplishing something, you know? Every time we destroyed a Hydra facility, it was like we'd done something really good."

"You had. And you don't have to explain the thrill of combat to me. But don't try to tell me it was just a good time defeating Nazis in Europe. I know you lost your best friend and your first love. You sacrificed yourself to save the world. Just because you happened to survive doesn't diminish what you did."

He buried his face in her hair. "You keep trying to tell me you don't deserve me, but moments like this make me think it may be the other way around."

"Never." She raised her head to kiss him, marking the first moment he'd truly relaxed all day. He allowed himself to get lost in the feeling, pulling Natasha on top of him. All the anger and worry of the day seemed to morph into passion as the kiss continued. His hands found the curve of her waist and moved lower of their own accord. At some point they'd come to an unspoken agreement that pajamas were superfluous, something he never fully appreciated until times like these, when full-body contact got his blood pumping faster than any mission ever could. He gasped as she rose over him like a goddess with a flaming halo.

When it was over, he held her on top of him, maintaining a strong embrace that expanded and contracted with her ribs as she breathed. "Nat, you may think you need a bear trap, but I'm just going to hang onto you with bear hugs."

"Bare bear hugs," she replied, wiggling against him as she wrapped her arms behind his neck. "I wonder if they considered sexual stamina when they were developing the serum."

"I think it's just a really fantastic side effect. Like the opposite of the liquor metabolism."

She snuggled into his neck. "I know I haven't brought this up before, but I was wondering if you realize that we have a lot more sex than the average couple."

"Really?" He desperately hoped it wasn't a veiled request to decrease their frequency of lovemaking. "I just kind of assumed this was how things went nowadays."

"Only for porn stars." She squeezed her thighs together around his rapidly increasing arousal. "Or for those of us lucky enough to be with you."

"Are telling me I should quit SHIELD and make, uh, blue movies?"

"Oh, like I'd _ever_ share you. I want you for everything. All the time." She kissed her way down his neck, nipping and sucking. "In fact, why are we still talking?"

He laughed and rolled them so he was on top of her. "I love you so much, Natasha."

"Love you, too." She pulled his head down and pressed her lips against his, hard. He took the hint and pushed her legs apart with his knee. "Mmm, I like it when you get a little aggressive. Let the animal out a little."

Between Natasha's screams of pleasure and his own, they were both exhausted enough to sleep afterwards. He didn't even remember why he'd been so worked up about Hydra the next morning. It was probably just his imagination running wild. They'd been running into so many reminders of Natasha's past lately that he'd invented one of his own to be included in the angst; Dr. Moses would probably applaud his insight. Still…

He slipped quietly out of bed and Natasha's arms, making his way to the bathroom in the chilly morning air. He grinned at his reflection, noting the bite mark she had left on his clavicle was already fading. No point in checking if the scratches down his back hadn't healed yet. The nails responsible were suddenly dragging lightly over his chest as Natasha had snuck up behind him. "Shower?"

"I was gonna wait until after my run…"

"Didn't get enough of a workout last night?"

He smiled, wishing he could see more of her than just the top of her head over his shoulder in the mirror. "You raise a good point. Now, just so we're clear, are you telling me I stink from working up a sweat with you last night or…"

"Just get in the damn shower with me, Rogers."

A thought struck him as she shampooed his hair. "Nat, I've been thinking…would it be weird if I introduced you to Peggy?"

"Why?"

He was unable to open his eyes to interpret the question because she was tipping his head back to rinse his hair. "Well, I told her about you and I think she'd like to meet you."

"No, I mean why would it be weird?"

"Oh. I don't know if it would. I just…okay." He leaned down obediently as she worked conditioner into his hair. "What's that fruity smell?"

"Guava."

"Since when are we using scented products? I thought you had a thing against giving yourself away via unnatural perfumes."

"I do, but I've got other stuff for…special occasions. If we're visiting your first girlfriend, you're going smelling like you've been thoroughly possessed by another woman. Pass me the poof and the pomegranate body wash."

He wasn't sure why he complied, but it was a nice scent she was rubbing over his body. "You do realize that Peggy is a great-grandmother in her nineties and has memory problems, right?"

"Then imagine how much you'll improve her day, walking in there smelling so nice."

"I thought you liked my aftershave. You said it was manly."

"I'm not being irrationally jealous, so don't even think it."

"I didn't…" He kissed her shoulder as the water fell over them. "Do I use the guava shampoo on you so we smell alike?"

"Oh, good idea."

* * *

><p>Sharon Carter gently closed the door to her great aunt's room after a pleasant visit. Life had been fairly settled and quiet lately since her assignment guarding Rogers had ended; she'd yet to be reassigned, so, aside from the occasional shift in Ops and training sessions, she was free to do as she wanted. And SHIELD was still paying the rent on her apartment through the end of the lease the following year, resulting in some extra disposable income. She was considering either a short cruise with the family or a long tour of South American beaches by herself. She was trying to decide whether to start in Buenos Aires or Santiago when she rounded the corner and her dreams collapsed. "Oh, hell no. You are not introducing Romanoff to my aunt."<p>

Infuriatingly, Romanoff grinned while Rogers simply looked bewildered. "Sharon? What are you…I thought you worked in a hospital."

"Steve, I believe your former neighbor has been less than honest with you," Romanoff said smugly. Sharon wanted to smack the shit-eating grin off her face.

Rogers seemed slower on the uptake. "Why aren't you wearing your scrubs if you…you don't work here?"

"Y'know, I wondered why she'd been so shy any time I was around, but this explains _so much_."

"Nat, could you clarify…"

"Romanoff, I remind you that you are not authorized…"

"What is she…"

"SHIELD agent." Sharon was ready to reach for the weapon concealed in her boot when Romanoff continued, "She's with the undercover unit. Floor 16. I assisted them with a training mission once. They were supposed to flush out a hostile agent."

Rogers folded his arms and looked to her. "Did they?"

"I think they scared some geese or something. Gave me ample time to target each of their sensors."

Sharon bristled. She and her fellow agents had been stuck behind desks for weeks following that particular training mission. As if she needed another reason to hate Romanoff. At least there was still time to save face. "I think maybe we should step out of the hallway to continue this conversation." She pointed to a doorway that led to the presently empty arts and crafts room. A moment later, she was face to face with Steve Rogers in a fairly private space. She hadn't been this close to him since he had been in her apartment weeks ago. She inhaled and was confused by his oddly feminine scent. Ignoring her nose, she focused on his eyes, still the most beautiful shade of blue she had ever seen in stormy anger.

"Why didn't you tell me you were working for SHIELD?"

"You didn't have clearance to know…"

"That my employer was spying on me?" She jerked with surprise as he pushed her against the wall by her shoulders. He was _so_ strong. "That SHIELD doesn't trust me?"

"It wasn't like that. My assignment wasn't to spy on you."

"Then what?"

"I was there to protect you."

"You? They sent you to protect me?"

Sharon tried not to be insulted by the implication of his question. "The Director felt it was appropriate to…"

"_Fury_ sent you?" He released his hold on her shoulders and stepped away to begin pacing. She missed his nearness immediately and tried to follow him around the table. "Well, this is just fantastic."

"It had nothing to do with trust, Steve. Director Fury was just concerned that some Captain America fanatic might try something stupid and…"

"And I wouldn't be able to handle it myself?"

"More like you would be too polite or too afraid of hurting someone to do what needed to be done. Look, I was just a contingency plan in case of emergency. I never even started to worry about you until…"

"Until what?"

Sharon took a deep breath and made sure she was staring directly into his eyes. "Until you made the mistake of sleeping with Agent Romanoff." She didn't wait for the volatile woman's response, instead wrapping her arms around Rogers and pulling him into a kiss.

He resisted, pushed her back when she tried to open his lips with her tongue. His eyes were wide with surprise. "What is wrong with you?"

"Don't fight it, Steve. Just kiss me so you know what it feels like with someone who truly loves you."

"Look, Agent Carter? I liked you well enough when I thought you were my neighbor the nurse, but that's over now that I know who you are. And even if you had told me who you really were back then, I don't think it would have worked out because Natasha and I…" He looked around the room. "Where is Nat?"

Sharon forgot all about her desire for Steve Rogers and made a beeline for her vulnerable aunt's room.

* * *

><p>Natasha smiled widely as she entered Peggy's room, decorated with family photos and handmade quilts that made it look less like a hospital room. "Hello."<p>

"Hello, dear. Please tell me you haven't come to kill me."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Ah, so you aren't from physical therapy."

Natasha smiled again. "No, I'm just here to visit."

"Do I know you, dear? My memory isn't what it used to be."

"No, we've never met. My name is Natasha." She clasped the hand the elderly woman extended. "I came with Steve Rogers."

Peggy's face lit up immediately. "You must be the girl he's so crazy about! One of the girls here showed me your picture with him. In New York, I think it was."

"And you say you have a memory problem."

Peggy smiled feebly. "It comes and goes. Where is Steve?"

"He just stopped to have a word with your niece. We bumped into her on our way in."

"Yes, you both work with Sharon, I suppose. I had always hoped we would have solved the world's problems in time for your generation to enjoy themselves, but…" She sighed heavily.

"I think you and I both know that people like you and I…and Sharon and Steve do what we do so more people can sit back and enjoy life. We make the sacrifices so no one else has to."

Peggy was giving her an inscrutable look. "I can see why Steve has fallen for you."

"It's mutual, I can assure you."

"Can you promise me one thing?"

She grasped Peggy's hand. "What is it?"

"Take care of him."

"That's not something you need to ask." Natasha leaned forward.

"I know, dear." Peggy's forehead made light contact with hers. "But I still have to make sure."

"I love him."

The grip on her hand suddenly became tighter. "Do not hurt him."

"I won't."

"Good." The older woman relaxed back into her pillows. "He comes to see me, so I'll know."

Natasha laughed, though she had no doubt the threat from Peggy was serious. "He thought it would be strange for us to meet."

"I can't see why. We seem to have a mutual understanding about the value of his heart."

"May I come visit you again, Peggy Carter?"

"Of course, Natasha…I don't believe you told me your last name."

"It's…"

Sharon Carter chose that moment to burst into the room. "Romanoff!"


	27. Cheeseburger in Paradise

Steve sat on the couch, watching the national news while Natasha stretched out with her head in his lap. He idly stroked her hair, trying not to think too hard about Sharon Carter. He didn't feel guilty, exactly, but he was still unnerved by the idea of telling Natasha. He brought up a safer topic when a commercial came on. "I'm glad you and Peggy like each other."

"She's amazing. I can see why you…hm. Anyway, she's definitely my preferred Agent Carter."

He had to stop himself from pulling Natasha's hair by mistake as his fingers curled into a fist involuntarily. "I can't believe Fury sent that woman to…do you think he assigned her to me because of her connection to Peggy or do you think she volunteered for the duty?"

"It's over." She reached up to untangle his fingers from her hair and pat his hand gently. "Fury is giving us a free vacation day tomorrow and we should make plans to do something fun for our long weekend."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"I emailed him. I may have mentioned that you were a little upset about the whole Sharon Carter thing and might need the time to cool your homicidal urges." She looked up at him and blinked innocently. "What?"

"You actually said that to Fury?"

"Well, maybe not in those words, but I think he could figure out what your reaction would be to finding out he'd assigned you a guard dog but conveniently forgot to mention it."

"Oh. Right." He resumed stroking her hair, but paused after a moment. "You didn't really tell him…"

"Relax. You know I wouldn't do anything to make you look bad in front of our boss. Especially not when it leaves a paper trail. I think I said you were understandably frustrated by the choice not to actively involve you in your own security measures or something like that. Diplomatic enough for you?"

"Sounds fine."

"My laptop is right there if you want to read exactly what I wrote."

"No, that's not what I…Look, when you took off to see Peggy and Sharon and I were alone…she kissed me."

Natasha tensed only slightly. "And?"

"We were alone in that room. I didn't even realize you hadn't followed us and I was stunned when she hadn't been ripped to pieces moments after I pushed her away."

"Hmm."

"I'm so sorry, Nat. I didn't mean for it to happen, she just…kissed me and I didn't realize it was happening for a second but I pushed her away and told her I was not interested the second I…"

She suddenly interrupted without looking up, "Why'd she kiss you?"

"She, uh, told me I needed to see what it was like to kiss someone who really loved me."

"Oh?" Natasha slowly pushed herself up to his waiting lips. Warmth spread through his body from the point where their mouths met. Everything that had repulsed him about the contact with Sharon was an invitation to intimacy with Natasha. Her scent, her touch, her feel – she was his love, his life, his home. She didn't stop kissing until he reluctantly pulled back. Her gaze was expectant. "Well?"

"Definitely better coming from someone who loves me." He cupped her cheek, relishing the fact that she leaned into his touch. "But, uh, maybe we should make sure."

"Subtle, Casanova." She rolled her eyes, but was quick to pull him into another long kiss. Before long, they were lying side by side on the sofa and he was wondering why he'd ever thought something as complicated as a belt was necessary around the house. He'd just gotten it unbuckled when Natasha popped up on her elbow. "Clint's home."

She vaulted over Steve without so much as another caress. He watched with confusion as she ran to one of the windows and raised it. "Hey! Indian or Thai?" After a muffled answer, she continued, "Seriously? Okay, we'll be up in thirty."

Steve tried not to be too disappointed when she didn't move to rejoin him on the couch. Barton had been sent out again immediately after their return from Krakow with Vasily and likely didn't know about what had happened in his absence. "What was that about?"

"He always goes up the fire escape when he comes home from a mission. I can tell if it went well or not by what he wants to eat, even if he can't share details about what he was doing." She was already in the front hallway, pulling her boots on. "You want to come?"

"Doesn't any place around here deliver?"

"Steve, in case you haven't noticed, we're low profile here. We don't even get mail."

He considered for a moment. "Huh. Guess you've had me too distracted to notice." He pecked her cheek before bending down to put on his own shoes. "Not like anybody writes to me."

"If you think that, you should check with the PR people at SHIELD who handle the Captain America fanmail."

"Are those the same people who wanted me to start a Facebook thing?" Though he was no longer intimidated by most of the current technology, the level of impersonal connection engendered by some of it was still unsettling to him. "Why would thousands of strangers want to see pictures of my breakfast, anyway? "

"You're thinking of Instagram. Really, though, you should think about answering some of those letters." She locked the door behind them. "I bet some little kids would love getting an answer or an autograph from their hero. I hear they're making trading cards again."

Steve considered for a moment. He hadn't thought about those things since Fury had slapped the pile bloodied by Coulson's… He shook his head. He hadn't known Agent Coulson very well, but he had learned not to bring up the name in front of certain people, Natasha included, unless he wanted to significantly sour the mood. He decided a change of topic was in order, so as they descended the stairs, he asked, "You said you can interpret how the mission went depending on what Barton feels like eating?"

"Uh huh. Pad Thai means the mission went badly, tandoori means it went well."

"And was it good or bad this time?"

"He wants Five Guys."

"That burger place?"

"First, it is not just a burger place – it's _the_ burger place. And second, that means he's pissed that he was sent on a bullshit mission. We'll have to stop for beer, too."

He glanced at his bike, safely covered for the winter in the underground garage of the building, but got into the passenger seat of Natasha's black Camaro without complaint. She'd told him many times that there was plenty of space for him to park his own car down here, but he'd resisted; she was happy driving everywhere, anyway. He suspected it was a combination of power and control, so he never complained about her aggressive turns or excessive speed. Seatbelts and other safety features made riding in cars much more comfortable in the 21st century, even with Natasha driving. He didn't grip the door handle only through sheer force of will as she squealed out of the garage. "We have to talk to Barton about Hydra."

"We will." She took a hand off the gear shift for a moment to squeeze his knee. "We'll need him to keep his eyes open, huh?"

"Um…"

He wasn't sure how they found a spot directly outside the restaurant, just that they had probably made an illegal turn and…was it called drifting? He pushed two quarters into the meter after a quick exit from the car. Natasha was ordering at the counter when he caught up to her. "Yeah, three cheeseburgers all the way and would it just be, like, two large fries if you filled up a whole bag with fries?"

The young man behind the counter was looking at her with wide eyes. "Uh…sure. Anything else?"

"Yeah, what do you want, babe?" She looked at Steve with inquisitive eyes.

"Um…"

"Another two, all the way," she interrupted. "To go. No drinks."

Steve trailed her to a table after she collected a cardboard container of peanuts. They'd sat down and started cracking shells into the spare container she'd brought when he said, "Are you really planning to eat three cheeseburgers?"

"Have you already forgotten we're bringing dinner to poor Clint, who just got home from back to backs?" She opened another peanut with an audible crack before saying, "Don't look now, but those girls are taking pictures of you with their iPhones. Wow, an all-American guy like Captain America likes burgers? Who'd've thunk?"

"Should I…"

"Imagine how many favorites they'll get after photos with Captain America?"

He wasn't sure it was an approval, but he halfheartedly posed with the group of swooning teenagers until Natasha held up three bags of food when their number was called. He politely excused himself and left with her, aware that the click of cameras was still following them out the door. He hoped it wouldn't come back to bite them.

They were walking up the stairs in their building when Natasha started stomping around the third floor. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure Clint knows we're coming. He's a big fan of at-home nudity."

Steve increased the weight of his own tread, trying not to jar the two twelve packs of beer bottles he was carrying. Natasha had insisted on a brew he had never heard of that she said tasted like the beer equivalent of cookies. He wondered if he was really missing anything with his immunity to the pleasant effects of alcohol. Barton was standing in the doorway of the apartment at the end of the hall in slippers and a robe when they arrived on the fifth floor a few minutes later. "Geesh, Tash, you gotta get some new boots. I thought Hannibal had taken a wrong turn at the Alps."

"Don't be an ass. I brought food and booze."

"Well, come on in, then. I'll put pants on so as not to offend Rogers' delicate sensibilities."

Steve kept his mouth shut as he trailed Natasha into the apartment. "Shoes off," she instructed as soon as they walked through the front door. He was about to comply when he looked further into the apartment.

"Where's the furniture?"

"Hm?"

"There's just…" He tried to gesture to the piles of cushions and nothing else visible in the apartment. "What's with this?"

"Oh, the whole floor and the roof are converted practice ranges. Clint needs all the archery practice he can get. The rest of the time he's happy thinking he's a pasha with the cushions and pillows and…I don't even know. Do you still sleep in a hammock?"

Barton emerged from a room down the hall from the small kitchen, wearing a sweatshirt and pair of flannel pants. "My hammock is comfortable. Besides, we made a deal when we bought the place that we wouldn't be bringing anyone back here on a whim."

"Steve was never a whim," Natasha shot back, making herself at home in the kitchen, pulling out plates and a bottle opener. "Shut up and eat your cheeseburgers."

Clint didn't look at Steve, taking his loaded plate from Natasha and settling into a corner of what Steve assumed was the living room and turning on the wall-mounted television. "Caps against the Flyers?"

Steve took an awkward seat among the cushions a fair distance from Barton. "Didn't know you were a hockey fan."

"Tash likes how blood bounces on the ice. Also, the teeth going everywhere."

"You make me sound like a sociopath," Natasha protested, sitting beside Steve and handing him an opened beer.

"Well, what's your shrink say?"

"Go to hell, Clint."

"Hey!" Steve interceded, not wanting to waste his delicious food as ammunition. "Let's just…watch the game."

Natasha took a big bite of her double thick cheeseburger, talking around it, "Sorry you had to go out again, but the guy we brought in killed himself and said he was working for Hydra, so…" she trailed off as she took a long swig from her beer. "Hydra. Keep an ear to the ground."

"Can do. More beer?"

Steve nodded and tried to shrug off Barton's casual response. Hydra was not something you could just nod at and ignore from your padded stronghold at the top of your own apartment building. He didn't comment as Natasha went to the refrigerator for the drinks. Fury knew. Hill knew. He and Nat knew. Now Barton knew. There wasn't much more they could do at the moment. Unless… "Didn't Stark download SHIELD's computer? He was bragging about it on the helicarrier." Steve didn't bring up the Phase Two weapons he'd found, but Barton was still shrugging the problem off.

"He wouldn't have had access to the mainframe, just whatever was accessible from the helicarrier,"

"But they had…"

"Rogers, don't you think Stark would have been the first to trumpet the discovery of Hydra to the world if it had been there?"

"Well, maybe, but if he didn't…"

"It's something we'll keep an eye out for, but that's all we can do for the moment." Barton raised his beer to the TV as Ovechkin scored a goal. "Hey, look how well Tasha's other boyfriend is doing!"

"Shut up, Clint!"

Steve forgot about Hydra, spending the rest of the night asking about Natasha's hockey knowledge.

* * *

><p>An: I know Nat drives a black Corvette in TWS and not a black on black Camaro, but that particular body style of Vette is the 2014, and this fic is set slightly earlier than it would have been available. Maybe there'll be a chapter where she hits up the Chevy dealership for the upgrade. I haven't written that far ahead. I haven't even written the next chapter yet. It's a WIP. Anyway, this is a complicated way of saying, yeah, not the same car. I know. Please don't get all up in my inbox about it, unless you're talking about other stuff with which you have beef. Or whatever. I'm here and chitter-chattery, like a squirrel that can't hibernate and hid Red Bull instead of nuts. Acorns don't mix with vodka.


	28. Objects in the Rearview

"Nat?"

Natasha swatted at Steve's roaming hands without opening her eyes.

"Natasha?"

She was tired and just slightly hungover. "We don't have to work today. Run or go back to sleep."

She heard a huff of exasperation before she dozed off again. The one thing she would change about Steve was his predilection for mornings. While it usually meant she wasn't late for work on days they weren't needed for early meetings at SHIELD, it was downright annoying on normal mornings, even if he did make a damn good omelet. He liked to conform to the Army adage of accomplishing more before breakfast or something than most people accomplished all day, but she prided herself on sleeping in and still catching up to the Army before lunch. It was probably the opposite it should have been, given the time difference between the US and Russia, but she really didn't give a damn. She did what she did at appropriate times and anyone who wanted to bitch about it could…she reached across the bed to find that Steve had, in fact, disappeared for a morning run. And to think how many calories he could have burned if he'd stayed in bed…

Natasha stretched her arms over her head and thought about the next few days. She had been wanting to take Steve horseback riding, but it was too cold for most of the farms within driving distance to have opened their trails this early in the season. They could go skiing, but she suspected he'd never tried it. Lessons were always exasperating. A hunting trip seemed out of the question; in spite of his above average marksmanship, Steve didn't seem like the type to shoot Bambi's mom, regardless of how delicious venison was when properly prepared. She needed a three day weekend that wasn't just about sex and death. Damn. Maybe they could go hiking in the Appalachians. That was within easy driving distance and didn't necessarily involve death. She reached blindly at the nightstand for her tablet; she could find them a lodge before he returned home if she…she suddenly thought of something more interesting she could be looking for online. Pulling the sheet around her body, she stumbled out to the living room to retrieve her laptop.

Steve was gently tugging the computer away from her some time later, just as she had found what she wanted. "I was…we can…can you ski?" she finished lamely.

He was sweaty and warm as he leaned over her without looking at her screen. "I'd be happy to learn."

"We can…" She wrinkled her nose. "Maybe you should go shower."

"Maybe you should brush your teeth."

"Maybe that's not the smartest way to invite your girlfriend to take care of your little super soldier in the shower."

He frowned and looked away. His gazed landed on her laptop. He picked it up before she could grab it away. "What were you…is that security footage from Peggy's nursing home?"

"Maybe?" Natasha felt the color rise in her cheeks involuntarily, annoying both as a dead giveaway of her embarrassment and a reminder that she'd never quite mastered controlling that particular reaction, in spite of years of training. "I wasn't…"

Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the paused black and white image. Natasha tried to reach around him and close the screen, to snap it shut on the soundless video she had managed to recover of Steve and Sharon alone the previous day, but he held the laptop further away. "I told you she kissed me! And that I pushed her away! Do you not trust me or something? Had to see for yourself?"

"Steve, I…" In her blackmail plan, she hadn't really thought about how he would feel if he found out. Angry and hurt, apparently. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, the sweat wicking through his t shirt dampening her skin. "It was never about me not trusting you. I was going to email it to Sharon Carter and make some creative threats about what I'd do to her if she tried it again. I'm protecting my territory and my reputation."

"Oh, your reputation? I thought you didn't like to leave paper trails."

"Undercover Ops comes down hard on fraternization with anyone else in SHIELD, so it's not like she could tell anyone about it without exposing herself, even though it was just a meaningless…" She couldn't finish the statement. Kissing Steve _meant_ something, and damned if she was going to let anyone else show him the kind of love that…damn it. "I just want her to know that if she comes near you again, I'll break her into pieces so small they'll have to vacuum her up."

"Why does everyone who should know better think I need protection? First Fury and now you, Nat? Really?"

"I…" She flinched as he tossed her laptop down on the bed and walked away. "Steve, it wasn't about…it was…" He shut the bathroom door with a definitive thud before she could talk her way out of what it was. She waited until the water had been running for a few minutes before poking her head into the bathroom. "Steve? Will you just let me explain?"

"Explain why you hacked into – I'm assuming you hacked the nursing home?"

"Well, it wasn't exactly the most secure…"

"Because it's a nursing home, Natasha! You stole a video from a nursing home to blackmail a woman with poor impulse control and a stupid crush on Captain America!"

"She said she loved you!" Natasha shouted, her voice sounding even louder in the tiled room. She turned away from the shower, walking to the sink. The mirror had not yet fogged over to the point of blurring her image completely. The superior smirk was there, cruel and knowing. _Someone loves him, Natalia, loves him like you'll never be able to. She can give him everything he dreams of. Steve and Sharon Rogers. Lovely. What do you think they'll name the children?_ She screamed with rage and pounded her fists into the mirror, intent on reducing it to powder, crushing the truth along with it.

She was vaguely aware of someone shouting for her to stop, wet hands slipping on her arms as attempts to grab her failed. She hadn't been this angry, this uncontrolled, this savage in years, not since she had first tried to leave her old life behind. But she could never leave it behind. It would always be there, always waiting for her to drop her guard just enough. The reflection always told her the truths she didn't want to hear and she could never eliminate every mirror, every piece of glass, ever over-polished marble floor… She tried to kick at the mirror as she was lifted bodily and carried out of the room.

The fight left her as she lost sight of the shattered mirror. She was being dressed and…held really tightly in bed. It wasn't a loving embrace, more of a body on body restraint. Steve was shouting, "I don't know what the hell happened! We were arguing about something and she suddenly lost it and started smashing the bathroom mirror…yeah, the mirror. How the hell should I know how long she'd been staring into it? Can you just…no, maybe I should just bring her to medical. Because they look pretty swollen. What if there's a break? Fine, I'll wait for you. Hurry!"

She blinked and saw Steve set his phone on his bedside table. "Who was that?"

"Barton. Can I let you up?"

"I…I'm so sorry, Steve." She felt a sob break from her and buried her face in the thick comforter. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Just tell me what's happening." He pushed himself off her, but she didn't try to get up or away. She just wanted to sink into the bed and disappear. It would make everything so much easier. "Nat, what's going on?"

"She…she loves you."

"You didn't just destroy your hands on the bathroom mirror because Sharon Carter said something worthless to me yesterday. You love me and I love you and nothing is going to change that." He stroked her hair as she was unable to hold back another sob. "What is this really about?"

"She's better for you. You should be with someone who…"

He cut her off, "Natasha, there is nobody in the world better for me than you. Please, look at me."

She did. And staring into his clear blue eyes, she confessed the last secret she had held back from her KGB days. He wrapped his arms around her and told her that everything was going to be okay. Maybe he was a better liar than she had ever given him credit for.


	29. Mirrors

Steve watched through a large window as Natasha dozed under the controlled sleep of sedatives in the Medical Unit at SHIELD. Barton stood beside him, arms folded over his chest. They were waiting for the arrival of a hand surgeon from Georgetown University Hospital to evaluate the fractures in her right hand and Dr. Moses to evaluate everything else. Steve hadn't quite decided how to feel yet, beyond confidence in his unshakable love for Natasha and varying levels of frustration in the people around him. Including her. How could she possibly think he would leave her for someone else over…? He shook his head. This was all too much coming at him at once.

Rather than entering the room to try and hold one of Natasha's heavily bandaged hands, he spoke to the problem standing next to him, "How long as she had an issue with mirrors? Because this is the first I'm hearing about it."

"Hasn't happened in years. When she first came to SHIELD…she had a lot of trouble…adjusting." Barton scratched his forehead. "She used to say she could see her old self in her reflection and she didn't like what she saw."

"So she went around busting mirrors? And no one said anything?"

"Well…no one really wanted to risk it. For the first few months she was confined to the Triskelion. She was part incredible new asset and part rampaging hellbeast. For a while she wouldn't even talk to anyone but me without a gun pointed at their head or the occasional knife to the throat."

"And this was okay with everyone?"

"Rogers, before you and she developed tunnel vision for each other, you may have noticed that, in spite of being gorgeous and single, Natasha wasn't fighting off the men of SHIELD with both fists. The people that remember what she was like when I brought her in pass that knowledge along like an angry, redheaded flu."

Steve laughed mirthlessly. "I thought you two were supposed to be friends."

"Friends don't shy away from the truth. Nobody liked her when she first got her and a lot of people still don't, regardless of how much she's done to prove herself. Besides, she likes being feared by everyone beneath her. It's part of the whole Black Widow mystique."

"And the mirror-smashing, what? Made her scarier?"

"Most people thought it was just destruction for the sake of destruction. She was a KGB mini-Hulk." Barton's voice dropped to a growl, "Tash-smash."

Steve wondered if the Army could ever have operated as sloppily as SHIELD. "So everyone was okay with it?"

"I think Fury ordered her to see the shrink."

"Is that when Dr. Fleischman told her he refused to see her?"

"Mmm. Guy's a quack. Won't see me either, not that I have any desire to subject myself to his pompous ass-hattery. She got over it on her own, though. I can't remember the last time she smashed a mirror. Maybe it's got something to do with you, Rogers."

Steve cocked his fist for a blow that would likely fracture Barton's skull when a light touch stayed his hand. He turned to Hill, who had just arrived. "I think it's more likely that it has something to do with the KGB. She punched out six in the women's bathroom down the hall from the conference room just before we left for the Kazakhstan mission." Both men looked toward Hill, who shrugged. "I looked back through the maintenance logs and that was apparently the first time in several years. Also her first KGB-related mission in years. Is she going to be okay?"

"Some fractures in her right hand," Barton said with less concern than Steve thought appropriate.

"Good thing she's left-handed." Hill gave Steve a tight smile that told him she was actually concerned, even if she was demonstrating it via sarcasm. The three watched Natasha's still form in the hospital bed in silence for a short time before Hill said, "She told me about a training exercise called 'The Game' where they had to kill political prisoners or be killed. Semipalatinsk was one of the places it was carried out."

Steve closed his eyes, able to pull up an image of the scoreboards with very little effort, Natasha's, no, Natalia Romanova's name topping them all. He wondered how many other scoreboards like that existed throughout the KGB's sphere of influence. During his interrogation Vasily had mentioned a site near a lake. Steve wondered if there were a similar scoreboard there, or any number of other places the KGB had forced Natasha to kill in order to survive. She had told him about The Game, of course, the night she had told him everything about her past with the KGB – or almost everything. He was once again struck by the contrast between the person who had done enough to earn a hit from SHIELD's top assassin and the one who slept beside him, who could do the most delicious things with chicken, who gave him neck rubs and…other things. He was seized by the urge to rush into the room and collect her in his arms; he resisted only with some extra effort.

Silence once again reigned in the hallway until an angry argument – or one side of it – echoed through the hallway. Steve recognized Dr. Moses' voice, raised to an infuriated pitch. "…which is, furthermore, a direct violation of your obligations as a psychiatrist. Do I have to remind you _primum non nocere_? It's the first damn thing you're supposed to do! That includes patient evasion and…Steve!" Dr. Moses held out her hand, which he shook. "I came as soon as I got your message. Or as soon as someone was smart enough to give me security access. Remind me to find Agent Hill and thank him later."

"Uh…" Steve felt like smiling since the first time since this morning, seeing Dr. Fleishman cowering and Agent Hill awkwardly pursing her lips. "This is actually Agent Maria Hill."

Dr. Moses was unflustered, proffering her hand to Hill. "My apologies. You just get so used to dealing with men in the DOD and…well, thank you for allowing me access to my patient."

"Your patient?"

"You must be Agent Barton." Dr. Moses didn't extend her hand this time. "I thought you'd be taller."

"You should see me in stilettos," Barton quipped.

"Inappropriate humor. Interesting. But I'm more concerned about Natasha right now. May I…?"

"I'm afraid they sedated her when we brought her in," Steve said. "She beat the bathroom mirror to powder before I could stop her and cut up both of her hands, broke a few bones in the right one."

"And they had to sedate her to stitch her up?"

"She was…agitated," Barton said.

Dr. Moses looked at him skeptically. "Were you there?"

"Rogers called me for backup after she smashed the mirror. It wasn't something he'd seen before so…"

"This is something that's happened _before_?"

"I didn't know about it either," Steve said.

Barton scowled. "We didn't think it was something that was relevant to the present."

"Leave the psychiatry to the psychiatrists not named Fleischman," Dr. Moses chided. "Is the room soundproof, at least?"

Hill nodded. "We're waiting on the hand surgeon, though."

"Larsson from Georgetown?"

"How did you know?"

"I assumed you would get the best. Now, if you'll excuse me. My patient appears to be waking up."

Steve felt slightly better as Dr. Moses took a chair beside Natasha's bed, though he would have felt even better if he had been the one sitting beside her.

* * *

><p>Natasha opened her eyes slowly and took in one of the rooms in SHIELD's medical wing. The morning slowly came back to her in glimpses and…damn.<p>

"Good evening, Natasha."

She didn't even bother to question the presence of her psychiatrist. "Where's Steve?"

"Outside. I was assured this room was soundproof, though I can understand your reluctance to talk here. SHIELD hasn't exactly proved themselves trustworthy in the past, have they?"

"This has nothing to do with…" she paused as she realized she couldn't ball her fists. "SHIELD probably already knows, anyway. I wouldn't put it past Fury to have set it up that way."

"Set what up?"

"Another woman told Steve she loves him. She's the kind of woman who could fulfill all his potential desires, and I think he should…"

"No, you don't. And you know he won't leave you, no matter what you tell him."

"You're awfully confident for someone who doesn't know what I told him."

"Regardless, I've seen you two together. He's never leaving you. You could cut out one of his kidneys and leave him in a bathtub full of ice and he'd probably rationalize it away. You need to stop being so intimidated by the depth of his love for you."

She sighed. "He's the all-American ideal. And he won't want to fight forever. Eventually, he'll want the wife and 2.3 children and golden retriever and house in the suburbs."

"And what's stopping you from…"

"Legality and biology."

Dr. Moses raised an eyebrow. "I can make some educated guesses about the first, but I'm afraid your file didn't include anything about the second."

"The KGB didn't keep thorough medical records? Shocking. Although now that you mention it, that was a hole I should have noticed in the file you gave me. Was it just that good of a fake?"

"The file was authentic, but please don't change the subject. I'm afraid you're going to have to do some voluntary sharing, provided you want to talk about it."

Natasha shook her head. She didn't _want_ to talk about it, but she had probably surrendered that option when she'd told Steve they could never have children after destroying the mirror in their bathroom. She made eye contact with Dr. Moses and spoke quickly, "They removed one of my ovaries when I was seventeen with the intention of putting it on ice, just in case they could use my eggs for in vitro fertilization or cloning or something. Two years later, I was wounded during a mission. I didn't have the option of pulling out, so I went a week without any treatment. The infection and the resultant scarring…I can never have children. And I told Steve and he said everything would be okay but…"

"Was this before or after you hit the mirror?"

"After."

"And why did you smash the mirror in your bathroom?"

"I…sometimes I just don't like looking in mirrors. I look the same in spite of how much I think I've changed and…"

"But you _have_ changed. From what I gathered from Dr. Fleischman, you were completely out of control when you first came to SHIELD. What made you stop smashing mirrors?"

"I don't hear…I don't listen…she isn't _me_ anymore."

"Could you clarify that a little for me?"

"I…" Natasha hesitated, wondering if talking to a responsive reflection was grounds for involuntary commitment to a psychiatric ward. "Sometimes when I look in the mirror, it's like I can see myself as I used to be, and I start hearing all my doubts and fears and…it doesn't happen often, especially not anymore and…I'm not crazy, am I?"

"You did serious physical damage to yourself destroying a mirror that was talking to you."

"That wasn't an answer."

"I think it's a good thing that you're in therapy, Natasha. A brief rest may be the next step."

"You want to lock me up."

"I didn't say that. I'm just saying it's an option that's available, should you wish to take advantage of it. I won't force the issue, but I feel like I should mention that Steve seems very concerned."

"Can I talk to him?"

"You know he'll promise to take you home and take care of you."

Natasha considered for a moment. "Yes."

"Okay." Dr. Moses stood and motioned toward the window.

Steve was in the room a moment later, pulling her into his strong embrace as he sat on the bed beside her. Natasha wrapped her arms around him as best she could, given the circumstances. "I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry."

"Shh. Shh." Even his breath passing by her ear was comforting. She heard the door close again, indicating that Dr. Moses had left. Steve still held her. "Natasha…I love you, Natasha."

"I should have told you," she murmured into his neck.

"No, I should have figured it out. How long have we been together without you having a…a feminine issue? And I should have been more responsible about…"

"I still should have told you there was nothing to worry about. And why."

"Can I ask…why didn't you tell me?"

She swallowed a lump in her throat. "I like the way things are now. I was afraid if I told you…you would start to think about the future and realize that you wanted something more than me in it."

"No matter what I think about the future, you are always in it."

"Maybe your life would be better if I weren't."

Steve was prevented from answering by the entrance of Hill. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but the hand surgeon is here and needs to see Agent Romanoff."

He stood slowly, leaning down to give her a soft kiss on the lips. She whispered, "Think about it."

"Don't have to."

"Please, Steve. For you."

"Nat…"

"Miss Romanoff, I'm Dr. Larsson. It appears you've done quite a job on your right hand."

She listened quietly to the surgeon as Steve left the room. When she glanced at the window, only Hill and Clint were watching now.


	30. And She Was

It was long after the dinner rush, so the SHIELD cafeteria was mostly empty. Steve sat stirring his cup of coffee, staring into the swirling liquid, just as he'd been doing for the past half hour. The stuff was barely palatable when hot, so he could only imagine the flavor now that it had graduated to room temperature. It probably fell into the cruel and unusual category of interrogation techniques. Although he'd never witnessed it, there were rumors of enhanced interrogations taking place on the one of the basement detention levels. Natasha would know, may have even taken part if…he stirred his coffee harder. He'd come here to try and take his mind off her, but it was proving impossible.

He gave up on the coffee and watched the stirrer move by itself for a few revolutions before slowing to a lazy stop against the paper rim of the cup. She said she wanted him to be happy. They didn't need kids to be happy. They were already happy. Weren't they?

He'd never questioned it until she'd suggested it. He loved Natasha. He loved spending time with her, loved living with her, loved sleeping with her. She was his anchor in the new century, giving him a reason to want to continue his life beyond his innate sense of duty. He hadn't even realized what he'd been missing, beyond a general desire for companionship. Could another person really take Natasha's place in his life? He already knew the answer, but she had asked him to consider another option, so…here he was.

He was still stuck on how fundamentally wrong it had felt kissing Sharon, wondering if kissing anyone but Natasha would feel equally jarring, when a shadow fell over him. "Hill keeps lobbying for a Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts franchise in here, but I just don't see it happening. Can't bring myself to hand over security clearance to anyone who calls themselves a 'barista.'" Fury looked down at him expectantly. "You gonna ask me to sit?"

"Didn't think you needed my permission, sir."

"This is how you get out of the habit of being polite, Rogers. Everyone just expects you to do whatever you want without asking, so eventually, you do." He sat, setting his own cup of coffee on the table. After a sip, he said, "Hill may have a point."

"Did you come down here to talk about coffee, Director?"

"If you're expecting an apology, you're not getting one."

Steve gave a snort of laughter. "I've been working here long enough that I'm not even expecting a flimsy explanation. Would it be asking too much for you to tell me why Sharon Carter instead of some other agent?"

Fury shrugged and scowled after another sip of coffee. "She was available."

"When you say 'available'…"

"I mean she wasn't currently occupied on another assignment. The fact that she's pretty, single and related to your old girlfriend didn't factor into my decision to set her up as your emergency security option."

"Why do I find that so hard to believe?"

"Because you've been spending too much time with Romanoff."

Steve chose not to reply to the pointed comment and resumed stirring his otherwise untouched coffee.

"Don't get me wrong, I'd take her covering my back in any firefight and she's a damn good agent."

"But you'd be happier if I'd fallen into the honey trap you set up with Sharon Carter."

"You're just not gonna let that go."

"Why should I? I don't like being lied to and I don't like being manipulated, especially by people who allegedly want me to trust them."

"Yet you claim to be in love with one of the best spies and assassins currently operating in the world."

"I do love Natasha."

"What I know is that Romanoff can twist the truth into a Gordian Knot just by looking at it. And you're not known for carrying a sword." Fury pushed his half-finished coffee away and folded his hands on the table. "Rogers, I know you jumped into this thing with Romanoff with both feet and no lifejacket. I just want to know if you have a way to climb out if you need it."

"She'd be the first to offer me a ladder if I did. But I don't. Natasha didn't trick me into a relationship. If anything, I had to convince her to open up."

"Sure you did."

"You do realize that people are capable of interacting with each other without ulterior motives, right, sir?"

"I've heard that people like that exist. I think they hang out with Bigfoot. Look, Romanoff has had a hard life. Harder than you or I could ever imagine. It's made her ruthless, capable of things that would turn your hair white."

"Has she done any of those things on your orders?"

Fury regarded him intently for a moment. "No. But I have no doubt she would if I asked her to."

"Director, if you want me to end my relationship with Natasha, just say so. Then I can quit SHIELD work for the Pentagon or sell toys for Stark or something."

"You really want to put that much on the line for her?"

"Yes." Steve stood and picked up his coffee. He was done thinking and ready to resume reassuring Natasha that he had no interest in what any other woman had to offer. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I need to get back to Medical." He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard Fury chuckle as he walked away.

* * *

><p>Natasha opened her eyes and looked around the SHIELD hospital room. Her surgically repaired right hand, which now apparently sported some very tiny titanium plates and screws, was thoroughly wrapped, supported and immobilized on one side of the bed. On the other, Steve was snoring as he laid half-on the bed, sagging off a chair in what looked like an uncomfortable position. She waited until she was awake enough to ensure that she had no other injuries but the ones on her hands to say, "If you want to hold me kick off your shoes and get up here. Don't do it half-assed."<p>

He yawned and didn't move. "I thought you were trying to throw me at other women."

"Like I could pick you up at the moment."

He blinked his eyes sleepily. "Can you ever?"

"I've tossed you around pretty good when we've sparred."

"Yeah, well, none of that for a while." He sat up and leaned back in his chair. "Have you been trying to make me break up with you?"

"No."

"Just because, I mean, you're the one who keeps suggesting I might be happier with someone else or that you don't deserve me or…I just want to know."

"I'm not trying to trick you into breaking up with me. I genuinely want you to be happy, even if it isn't with me."

"Good, because there's no one else I want to be with."

"You're sure?"

"I love you, Natasha." He finally climbed into bed beside her, being careful not to touch her hands or IVs. "That means I'm sticking with you through everything. I'm not bailing if things get tough. We're an us."

"That makes us sound like a creepy hive-mind thing."

"I, uh…it was supposed to be romantic. Sorry. Although, if that movie we saw a few weeks ago is to be believed, love means never having to say you're sorry."

"Are you kidding? That movie turned what could have been a passable sad love story into a horrible cliché." She internally cursed the inability to clench her fists. "Love means feeling everything so deeply that you can't help but apologizing because you know how deep the hurt goes when it's there."

He slipped his arm around her waist, breathing softly into her ear for a few moments before whispering, "Love is patient. Love is kind. Love never fails…"

"Don't speak in human and angelic tongues to me, Steve."

"You recognize it." He tightened his hold around her. "It was one of my Ma's favorite passages. Always made her cry at weddings."

"It's closer to the truth than Ali McGraw, I suppose. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."

He was silent for a few heartbeats. "I'm kind of surprised you know anything biblical."

"You think you and your mother are the only people who've ever been to a wedding?"

"Well…"

"No, I suppose it's surprising for a godless Commie to…don't get tense. I'm joking." She tried to stroke his hair, but realized that her bandaged hand made it impossible. "I think that stuck with me because it's just a pretty piece of prose. It hangs on like a memorable line from a play or a stanza of poetry. I loved everything I read from the West. Russian classics have their place in my heart, of course, but…I suppose we had a lot more freedom and access to literature and information than the average Russian." She smiled to herself as an odd memory surfaced. "You should have seen me the first time I saw _The Wizard of OZ_. They were trying to make a point about American decadence, but I just wanted to go over the rainbow. I was always humming the songs and earning myself a beating. They sent me to Alaska on my first US mission when I was thirteen so I would think America was just like Siberia."

Steve kissed her neck gently. "You never fail to surprise me with the depth of your knowledge."

"That would sound sarcastic coming from anyone else." She turned her head to meet his unflinching gaze. "Spies have to be surprisingly well-educated so they can fit in, no matter the situation. We spent hours drilling our language accents and history and geopolitical knowledge and pop culture and…just everything. It's amazing they had time to indoctrinate us at all."

"I'd be amused if the end result hadn't been a smashed mirror in our bathroom this morning. Although I guess the end result was ultimately _you_, so…" He sighed loudly. "If someone had told me back in 1945 that I would fall in love with a former Russian secret agent…"

"You already had a pretty British secret agent girlfriend then."

"Nah, Peggy and I…we only ever kissed once, you know." He kissed her soft and long as if to make a point. "And we had a date to go dancing, but I never made it. Too much freezer burn."

Natasha had to remind herself that she liked Peggy, who was an elderly woman in a nursing home now and did not present a threat. "You dance?"

"I shuffle my feet in an acceptably rhythmic manner."

"Steve…"

"Shh."

"Please, I have to…you have to know that if there's ever something about my past that comes between us, I'll understand if you want to…if you have to…"

"I won't."

"But if you _do_…"

"I know what you're saying, Nat, and I'm telling you it won't happen."

"Even in case of organ theft?"

"What?"

"Nothing. I think Dr. Moses was making a joke."

"Do you need an organ transplant? Because if we're a match…I wonder if the serum would regrow an organ? Someone should look into that."

She shook her head with a smile. "Mention it to Dr. Larsson when he comes for my post-op. I'm sure universities across the globe would love blood samples from Captain America."

"Really? Could I help people that way?"

"That's my Steve."

"Always." Their kisses lasted until the night nurse came in to admonish them. Natasha was extremely pleased that no amount of medical nagging could convince Steve to leave her bed, though.

* * *

><p>Clint finished cleaning up the last pieces of pulverized mirror with the shop vac and a flashlight. He'd forgotten how many nooks and crannies there were in Tasha's bathroom for bits of broken glass to hide. He did a mental mini-inventory of the apartments and decided that the vanity in 1C had an acceptable replacement. Was there anything weird or dangerous stored in 1C? He remembered tossing his once-used skis, poles and boots in there after a disastrous long weekend trip to Vermont where she had given up trying to teach him to ski on Friday, giving him two full days to flirt with the ski bunnies in the nice warm lodge while she had done something involving black diamonds and sore thighs. He hadn't asked for clarification on the ride home, having his own sore but satisfied spots to nurse. She hadn't invited him for another ski weekend since.<p>

Letting himself into the first floor apartment, he noted that her ski gear was looking much more used and well-maintained than his. He picked up her goggles and looked through them. Maria Hill suddenly appeared in the doorway, looking very jaundiced. He immediately dropped the goggles. "How did you get in?"

"SHIELD access."

"SHIELD does not have access to my private property."

"Fine, but Stark does provide some useful tech. It only took this doohickey ten minutes to get me through the front door."

Clint pushed a box out of his way, spilling more skiing accessories on the floor. Ten minutes would have been pretty good under other circumstances. In the present case, he was only concerned with a single word. "Doohickey?"

"Are you telling me you listen to the stupid technical names Stark gives every little gizmo he makes?"

"What are you doing here, Hill?"

"I thought I'd see if I could help with anything."

"Well, Rogers is with Tash at the Triskelion and I'm taking care of the mirror, so…nope. We're good."

"We?" She followed him through the goat path of stuff to the bathroom.

"Things are under control." He pulled a screwdriver from his pocket as if that were some kind of proof. "Speaking of _things_, how come this is the first time I'm hearing that Tasha had a mirror-smashing incident not long ago?"

"I just happened to walk into the bathroom when…I think you need a flat-head for…" She frowned as Clint pulled a second screwdriver from his pocket and went to work on the mirror. "Oh. Anyway, I figured it was just pre-mission jitters, especially after she told me about The Game."

"Uh huh. And you thought Tash just offering up information was a result of jitters?" Clint stepped back as the second screw released and he took on the full weight of the mirror. "If you want to help, hold the doors open for me."

"Fine. Where are we headed?"

"Second floor." There was silence but for Clint's occasional grunt as he carried the new mirror upstairs and lifted it into place. Hill held it without comment as he tightened the screws. "Okay. Think we're done here."

"You did that like a man who's done it before."

"So?"

"I'm just saying…" She looked around. "This is Romanoff and Rogers' place?"

"Yep."

"Then why is there a fresh pizza in the kitchen?"

"Didn't feel like carrying it up to the fifth floor before I took care of the mirror. They won't mind if we eat a pizza here, if that's what you're hinting at." He bobbed his eyebrows suggestively. Natasha always made fun of his furniture choices, but she didn't know about his little love nest in the secret room on the fourth floor. Well, she had been discreet enough not to mention it, anyway. Maybe that was why she hadn't felt any compunction about bringing Rogers into their building. Hill still hadn't made a move to leave, so he added, "Beer's probably in the fridge." He crossed his fingers and pulled the refrigerator door open. Grinning, he held up two bottles. "Now you have to stay for a beer and a slice."

"Yeah, fine. As long as Romanoff doesn't find out."

"Just don't play with her little Avengers and you'll be fine." He pointed to the lineup of toys on the shelf beside the television. "Those are original prototypes, I think." Hill stood in front of the toys while Clint opened the beers and set the pizza box on the coffee table. "Uh…"

"Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about how…why didn't you kill her when you were ordered to?" Hill took a beer and sank into a chair, looking down at the floor. "I mean, it's good you didn't, but you couldn't have known that at the time."

"No, I did."

"Seriously?"

"Uh huh." He stuffed a large bite of pizza in his mouth to prevent having to explain further. "Guh…TV?"

"No, it's fine." She took a less ambitious bite of her own loaded slice. She even swallowed before continuing, "Rogers was in my office the other day going on and on about Hydra."

Clint washed his own bite of pizza down with a long swig of beer. "Yeah. They told me about it when I got back the other day. You think there's something in it?"

"I don't know if it's Hydra, but…there's something going on." He tried not to notice as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear in an especially alluring way. "There have been some unexplained missions lately. STRIKE has been sent out and no reports have come back with them. Fury doesn't have a lot of tells, but he was surprised when I asked him about it."

"I don't think I've ever seen that guy surprised."

"It's subtle, but it happens more often than you'd think. I mean, most people probably think nothing surprises you or Romanoff."

"Hey, you got a pretty good poker face yourself, Hill. Any ideas on what STRIKE is getting up to?"

"I'm just mentioning it. Rogers gave me the impression we were looking for anything out of the ordinary. It could be a top secret DOD project utilizing multi-agency resources or…" She sipped her beer and shrugged. "Just mention it to Rogers. I get the feeling he's not letting this Hydra thing go and he may have a point. It may not be Hydra, but there's definitely something off."

Clint grinned. "You're welcome to stop by anytime with intel. Or whatever. I can even give you the access codes for the building."

"Don't start getting ideas. This is potentially very big."

He resisted making a lewd comment. "I just hope the KGB isn't more deeply involved or I'm going to have to start ordering mirrors in bulk."


	31. The Apartment

Steve followed Natasha up the stairs of their apartment building, watching nervously as she held both arms out without touching anything, as though she were walking on a wire. "Are you sure you should be out of the hospital yet?"

"I'm just a little dizzy from the painkillers they made me take. Once I…oooh!" She nuzzled against his neck as he swept her into her arms and carried her up the remaining steps to their apartment. "Mmm, if I ever break my leg…"

"Please don't." He shifted her weight as he keyed in the security code to their door and pressed his thumb against the pad.

"I just mean hypogor…hypodermically…hypo…Clint?"

Steve kicked the door shut with his foot and set Natasha down. "Nice shiner, Barton."

The archer groaned from his spot on the sofa as Steve reset the security system. "Rogers, you can't get drunk. What'd we do last night?"

"Nat and I just got home from the SHIELD infirmary right now, so I don't know what you did or why you're even here. Could you not make it all the way upstairs? Please tell me you didn't drive."

"No, I stayed in. Fixed your mirror, so you're welcome. And your beer is gone, so thanks."

"I will murder you with my feet if you got into my good vodka." Steve caught Natasha around the waist as she leaned forward and threatened to overbalance.

Barton groaned again and waved vaguely toward the largest empty bottle on the coffee table. "Chopin?"

"Lucky you." She dropped into the chair beside the sofa. "This is why I keep the Polish swill in front."

"Does the job. And Polish jokes haven't been funny in…I dunno. Rogers?"

"It wasn't a joke. The only real vodka is Russian. That's why…little water." She squinted at his face. "Who did the job on you? The coffee table? I will bury it."

Barton was looking at her with the same confusion Steve felt. "Maria Hill. I think I slapped her ass. She's got a mean right hook."

"Why was Hill…?"

"I forget. She stopped by. Something about…stuff."

Steve shook his head. He had just been intending to bring Natasha home so both of them could get some sleep. Any drama was an unwelcome addition to the day. "C'mon, you," he muttered, scooping her out of the chair and carrying her to the bedroom. Nudging the door open, he saw an incongruous lump in the comforter. "Uh, Agent Hill? Is that you? Um…wake up?"

The covers flopped back revealing a thankfully fully clothed Maria Hill. "Sorry, Rogers. I was going to sleep in your guest room, but it's full of really gorgeous clothes. And shoes. The shoes! Too bad they're all Barbie-sized."

"Steve, put me in bed, Hill on the couch and Barton on the floor," Natasha mumbled. "Then come back for…snuggling."

Hill slapped her hand against her forehead. "She still has both hands bandaged, right?"

"Yeah, but she did threaten to kick Barton to death or something."

"I will if he pukes anywhere but the bathroom or kitchen. Tiles." Steve set her down gently on the bed, where she gave Hill a weak shove to reclaim her side.

"I don't even remember why I was drinking with him last night." Hill accepted Steve's hand to help her out of bed.

"Give Hill some Tupperware or something," Natasha said, settling under the covers.

"What? Why?"

"So we don't have to clean vomit off the floor later."

"What about Barton?"

"He can clean up after himself once he wakes up. Just remember, tiles."

Steve led Hill to the couch and set her up with a pillow and blanket before digging a large plastic bowl out of a cabinet. Barton had already curled up in a ball in the corner of the kitchen. Had he not been a super soldier in his mid-nineties, he would have been inclined to think he had some very odd colleagues. Back in the bedroom, Natasha had dozed off. He pulled up the covers from the bottom to take off her boots, which she had neglected to do before falling asleep. Moving to her side, he carefully placed a pillow under her surgically repaired right hand. He kicked his own shoes off before shrugging out of his jacket and lying down beside her.

"…'m'a give you so many blowjobs…"

"Later."

"'kay."

He snuggled up beside her and fell asleep, a much easier feat in their own bed rather than the one in the hospital.

* * *

><p>Natasha opened her eyes and reminded herself not to stretch. Her right hand ached with a dull pulsing pain; her left merely felt tight from the stitches across her knuckles. She slipped out of bed as silently as possible, not wanting to wake Steve. He had been so understanding during her most recent stay in Medical, holding her when she needed it, giving her space when the opposite was true. More than ever, he was the man she needed and so much more than the one she deserved.<p>

She left the bathroom door open, just in case. She stared into the new mirror that Clint had hung, waiting. There was no self-satisfied smirk, no omniscient declaration of skepticism, no reason to destroy the reflected truth. Steve's arms encircled her waist as his face appeared over her shoulder. "Everything okay?"

She watched the mirror for changes, but it was just them – her and Steve. "For now."

"How can I make it forever?"

"I…I think we'll have to wait and see."

"Whenever you look in the mirror, Nat, just imagine me there, whether I am or not. Because I'll always want to be."

"I know." She waited for a change that never came as he kissed her neck in the reflection. "I know," she repeated before turning to meet his lips. "Steve…"

"Shh." He nipped her earlobe as quieted her. "It's still a full house."

"Clint and Hill?"

"Both down and out."

"Then we can…"

"If we're _quiet_."

Natasha suppressed a giggle as they crossed the hallway back to the bedroom. "It's _our_ apartment. And maybe if you weren't so fantastic…"

"I just do what comes naturally," he replied in a whisper, closing the door silently. "You're just so inspiring…"

He laid her down gently, eliminating her injured hands from the motion, though she would have liked to feel more of his skin as she clutched him against her. Their bodies moved as one when he sank into her. She was almost tempted to suggest trying it in front of the mirror, but there was nothing to prove, nothing to contradict. There was just her and Steve and…and…she cried out in spite of her efforts not to. "Oh, Steve!"

He exhaled roughly into her neck several times as he spent himself. "Natasha…You feel so…I will hold onto you forever."

She found it hard to sigh while trying to catch her breath. "We can't get married."

"What?"

"I'm not trying to force you into anything, but you keep saying 'forever' and Fury has already done us a huge favor by overlooking our relationship. Getting married would be like a slap in his face."

"Maybe he deserves a…" She did her best to pull him into an argument-settling kiss. He rolled off her, pulling her with him. "Just so you know, I do want to marry you."

"Maybe someday."

"Definitely someday. I didn't spend the day at Tiffany's with Stark for nothing."

She suddenly wished she hadn't gone toe to toe with the bathroom mirror for a whole new reason. "Steve?"

"Nope. Not until you agree to a date."

"We've been on…"

"For the wedding."

"Oh." That was certainly more problematic. "What if we can't ever…?"

"Then you never find out what's in the pretty blue box."

"I love you."

"Love you, too, but don't think that gets you a shiny new ring."

"So mean."

"At least you_ know_. And it's already engraved."

"Now you're just being cruel."

"I'd make a joke if I weren't so sure you were familiar with real cruelty."

She felt his cocooning embrace as she withdrew into herself. "I…"

"Tell me if you can, but if you can't, promise me you'll tell Dr. Moses."

"Don't talk about my psychiatrist in bed."

His hands felt huge as he grasped her body. "Whatever you want, beautiful."

"I don't remember taking our clothes off." She nipped at his neck and chest.

"I just wanted you to be comfortable."

"Did you strip me while I was whacked out on pain pills?"

"To be fair, you were wearing scrubs, so…"

"Any other man would be wearing his scrotum as a hat right now."

"Mmm…" he ran his rough hands over her breasts, "not a turn-on."

"Your junk didn't get the message."

"I never claimed to be immune to a naked female goddess."

She was gone from the moment he entered her again.

* * *

><p>Hill dozed fitfully on Romanoff and Rogers' couch. Her dreams were all the same – a jigsaw puzzle she couldn't solve until she was awoken with the pieces still in disarray. She was missing something vital, she knew it. If only she could put all the pieces together. She was tempted to blame the environment, but she had never been closer to a complete picture than she had been tonight. Or this morning. Whatever. There was something just out of reach. It was tantalizing. She could suddenly understand the etymology so much better.<p>

She rubbed her temples as she sat up. If only her brain were so worthy of the distinction. The connection hung just out of reach. There was something there, she knew it. STRIKE, the Far East, opium, the KGB…

What if Rogers was right and Hydra was still in play? And what if there were more than one entity calling themselves the KGB? The group that had tried to reenlist Romanoff and a separate group that…there was nothing concrete, but the man calling himself Vasily had claimed Hydra affiliation with his dying breath – a breath that had been discounted as the ravings of a dying man at the highest levels.

Hell, maybe Rogers was nuts and was dragging Romanoff down with him, and she was dragging Barton, in turn. Why was it easier for her to believe the corruption of the entire agency rather than three agents who had every reason to back each other up? Maybe Romanoff was onto something with the mirrors, even if she was crazy. Hill ignored the sounds from the bedroom and closed the bathroom door as she stumbled inside. SHIELD was…how could SHIELD be compromised? That was like saying the Postal Service was compromised. And had access to the WMDs. Who could she tell outside this apartment without looking like a complete lunatic?

Fury. He was always an option. Unless he wasn't. He hadn't confided in her regarding the STRIKE missions, even if he hadn't authorized them. Damn it. Her father could have gotten her a job at Goldman Sachs with barely the stroke of a pen after her graduation, _summa cum laude_, from the University of Chicago, but she had insisted on pursuing a career in intelligence. Sure, she never got to talk about her work at Thanksgiving, but she got to sit in silent superiority in the den over expensive Scotch, nodding sagely or shaking her head in knowing disapproval over her brothers' investments. She had a damn fine portfolio of her own secure in Nevis, awaiting her retirement at any moment. If she had a reason, she could be gone in hours.

She had no doubt Romanoff and Barton had similar plans in place, but they weren't running yet. They didn't have families to consider. Extended families. Extensive extended families. Cousins and in-laws and people three times removed, whatever that meant. It meant a Christmas card, at the very least, and a connection to her, at worst. When had SHIELD become a worst case scenario? They knew everything about her, from her shopping habits to her most distant relations. It was a ridiculous thought, anyway. None of them were leaving SHIELD. Not yet. Not explicitly. How had one night's sleep broken her trust in the agency she had held to a higher standard than all others? Let the FBI, the CIA, the US Army fall, SHIELD could never be…

But they could. Hill suddenly understood a fraction of what Romanoff must have felt when staring into her own eyes in the mirror. Only the memory of assisting Barton hang this very mirror prevented her from smashing it herself. This was going to be hell. She returned to the couch, again ignoring the sounds from the bedroom. Everyone would have to wake up eventually.

* * *

><p>Clint woke with a headache and a kick to the ribs. "Hey."<p>

"Omelets, bacon and coffee. Don't bitch."

He looked up at Natasha. "Who's bitching?"

"You haven't gotten off the kitchen floor yet, so…"

"Two minutes."

He shrank from another kick. "Now."

"'m up." He used the kitchen counters to prop himself into a standing position. "See?"

"Thanks for the new mirror, by the way."

"Always willing to help a friend. So…just you, I guess."

"Don't sell yourself short." She pushed a cup of coffee into his hands. "Hill is still here."

"And here I was worried things weren't going to be awkward."

"It's fine, Barton. We'll just say it was a poorly delivered compliment and move on from there," Hill called from the living room. There was no mention of punches received in retaliation. Clint cautiously moved forward to where he could just see Rogers and Hill sitting on the sofa, eating breakfast, even though it was almost three in the afternoon. At least there'd been some agreement to operate on HST (Hangover Standard Time) before he'd been kicked awake.

He slunk back toward the stovetop where Natasha was working a couple of pans in spite of her injured hands. "How'd you convince your houseboy to let you make breakfast?"

"I suggested that he talk Hydra with Hill. It's his kryptonite. Besides, she's actually taking the whole thing seriously. She's got a theory about how the KGB we fought in Kazakhstan was a splinter faction and the rest of the KGB, which Vasily was working for, is actually part of Hydra."

He picked at a piece of bacon she had piled on a plate on the counter. "You buying it?"

"I don't know. Steve's been convinced since the interrogation, but…there's something rotten in the state of Denmark."

"That's fine. I think the Copenhagen Police have probably stopped hunting for me by now."

"I didn't actually mean…" She looked up from the omelet she was teasing around a pan. "What did you do in Copenhagen?"

He grinned, holding out a plate for the omelet to go with his bacon. "Oh, those files are sealed."

"Don't tease me, Clint. I've got a few weeks to look forward to in a cast."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning when I'm not in the field, I tend to do a lot of reading." She paused and gave him a significant look. "Classified reading." He didn't start to feel uncomfortable until she twirled the spatula in her surprisingly dexterous left hand. "Unauthorized classified reading."

"It was just a thing that didn't go quite as planned."

"Wait is this the time you kidnapped the soprano from the Royal Danish Theater and she turned out to be…"

"Shh." He grabbed the plate from her hand and balanced it on top of his coffee. "Get your coffee and we'll go see what the goodie-goodies are plotting in the living room."


	32. On and On

A/n: Whoo! New Year's! Um…right. Auld acquaintance and new, welcome. Reading. Yes. Babbly author's notes abound and warn of naughty things afoot in the first bit. Seriousness and feels coming in the future, so enjoy the nonsense while it lasts. Nurgle wibble foo. Dog photography. Unrelated. Who has to piddle?

* * *

><p>Steve tried to trace the conversation back in his mind to determine how it had gotten to this point. It had started sensibly with discussion about how to flush out information about Hydra, if it still truly existed. From there, it had been tentacles, which had led to Barton looking up and sharing some disturbing pornography. Natasha had again mentioned that he, Steve, would make a great 'porn star,' an assertion that Barton had taken a little too personally. And here they were, in their living room, convincing Barton to keep his pants on.<p>

"Clint, I'm not saying it's not respectable, just that you couldn't compete with…"

"It's not an accurate assessment! You've never seen me hard and I happen to be a grower, not a shower."

"No way in hell you could, uh, grow that much." Natasha was rolling her eyes hard enough to cause Steve some concern that she could sprain an ocular muscle. "You'd rupture something. Imagine the embarrassing gossip if you had to waddle around in a crotch cast for a few weeks." Steve felt her hand on his thigh, moving up. "Besides, Steve doesn't have to prove anything."

"Right, because you're not gonna lie for your boyfriend."

"Don't have to."

Steve realized that he was already starting to respond to Natasha's touch and gently pushed her bandaged left hand away. "Hey, can we get back to business?"

"I think we've reached the limits of what we can do as far as intel from here for now. And I'm actually intrigued by this topic," Hill said, tipping a beer bottle up to drain it. "Do we have a tape measure or something?"

"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary." Natasha's hand landed in his lap again. "Just give me a minute and Clint will be slinking away in shame and you, Agent Hill, will…"

"Not be seeing anything!" Steve protested, jumping up from the sofa. "Everybody is officially cut off for the night!"

"Relax, Rogers," Hill said, pointedly snapping the cap off another beer. "You'd be amazed how thoroughly you were measured before and after the serum. I don't need to see the proof in person. Unless…"

"No!" He found it disconcerting that Hill had the ability to waggle her eyebrows that suggestively. "Nat, why aren't you threatening her?"

She shrugged. "Hill's smart enough to look and not touch."

"I'm okay with touching," Barton interjected. Natasha and Hill shared a look and burst out laughing. Steve took the opportunity to sneak away to the bathroom. He looked into the mirror for a long time after washing his hands. It was just a reflective piece of glass. It showed what was there. How could Natasha see something other than what he saw when…?

She suddenly appeared beside him. "Hey, you know I was just joking, right?"

It took him a moment to recover from the shock of her unexpected arrival, then to remember what she'd been joking about. "Oh, that. Yeah. Of course."

"Because I still owe Hill a huge favor and it would kind of be counter to that if I had to gouge out her eyes for getting a look at your classified sections."

"Nat…" He turned toward her, resting his hands on her hips. He slid his fingers under the hem of her shirt and reached to touch as much skin as possible. He wanted to be alone with her in the worst way. "Think if we hide in here long enough they'll leave?"

"Hill might, but Clint will keep making a nuisance of himself until he gets kicked out." She leaned in and kissed his neck, nipping and licking the more sensitive spots until he was thoroughly distracted. He wasn't even aware that she'd undone his pants until she knelt in front of him. The bathroom suddenly felt very, very warm. Not as warm as her mouth, of course. His eyelids dropped as she wrapped her lips around him and swirled her tongue around the head.

"Is this the best…oh!"

He came out of her mouth with a pop as she backed off for a moment. "When am I _not_ the best?"

He looked down at her expectant gaze. "I was trying to ask if this was the best idea with…" He gasped as he watched himself nearly disappear into her mouth. He could feel what had to be the back of her throat. How was she not… As per usual, thinking took a backseat to experiencing. She wasn't even using her hands and this was still one of the most incredible…

He knees began to shake and he sat on the rim of the bathtub, trying to move slowly so Natasha wouldn't have to stop. He moaned softly, not wanting to end the moment too quickly with an outside interruption.

* * *

><p>Clint padded quietly back down the hall as Hill opened another beer. "I think Rogers is getting head in there."<p>

"And?"

"Well, I'm just saying…"

"Suggesting is more like it. And no, I will not suck your dick."

"Can't blame a guy for trying." He returned to his seat with a disappointed huff. "When was the last time you got laid, Hill?"

"It hasn't been long enough for me to get drunk and sleep with _you_, Barton."

"I wasn't…don't put words in my mouth. I was just trying to make conversation. Ever since Rogers moved in with Tash it's like I've lost my mojo. Like there's a limited amount of sex to be had and they're monopolizing it all."

"Pretty lame excuse, if you ask me."

"I'm just looking for an opinion here. Have we been unusually busy at SHIELD lately? Is that why I haven't time to meet anyone outside of work?"

"No more than usual. Less if you consider that Rogers has been spending the time with Romanoff when she's been injured." She shrugged. "You didn't even try to sneak in a quickie with one of the latest recruits?"

"I tried, but the one I hit on hero-worships Tash. Spent our whole lunch talking about the Black Widow. Probably setting up a shrine with one of the action figures as we speak."

"Please tell me it was one of the quitters."

"Nope. Clark who's going into the field agent course. It's funny, because I didn't bet on her to make it specifically because I thought she'd fail the psych eval. One more reason to wonder why Fleischman is head of the department."

Hill tapped her finger against her lips. "Hmm. Miranda Clark. We actually decided her adulation of Black Widow was just on this side of the line. Wants to be like Romanoff while understanding she's never going to _be_ Romanoff. Healthy fascination and not a terrible role model if you want to be a SHIELD field agent who lives for more than one or two missions."

Clint pulled Natasha's computer into his lap and tapped a few keys. "You ever get out with Tash?"

She nodded. "A couple of times. Educational, if not strictly by the books."

"I wondered why she and I never had to take on training ops, other than the little stuff. I just figured we were too valuable to waste on training, but it turns out Fury saves us for the big guns." Clint sipped his beer thoughtfully. "Any expectations for the new recruits?"

"Howard looks like a sure candidate for STRIKE once he completes field agent training."

"Ex-Marine, right?"

"No such thing."

"Right. Those guys are so touchy. I'm not saying I'd hit Parris Island for a vacation, but I did go through the program."

"Separately, with Romanoff, so as not to discourage the greenies, if I recall correctly," Hill said without missing a beat. "Fury thought it would relax her a little."

"Yep. Two months after I brought her in and…Hill, did you ever think she'd come this far?"

"The first time I met her I thought she was going to rip my throat out with her teeth. Now I'm assigning her to do some classroom work with the new field agent trainees while she recovers."

Clint chuckled and sipped his beer. "Are you saying you thought Tasha was a werewolf?"

"No, I'm saying she scared the hell out of me just the way she was. No matter how things turned out, you can't tell me you saw that when you brought her in." Hill was looking at him strangely when he glanced up at her. "Barton, were you in…"

Natasha suddenly interrupted the conversation, much to Clint's gratitude. He gestured toward his chin and she wiped her own without blushing. "So, are you two planning to stay all night? Or do we not have work tomorrow and nobody told me?"

"No, I should really be getting home," Hill said, standing resolutely. "My neighbor's cat is probably wondering where her nightly tuna has gone."

"You know, we've got empty apartments here." Natasha ignored Clint's wild gesticulations. "It's closer to SHIELD and it's rent free. You could get your own cat. I think they give them away at the pound."

"I believe it's referred to as 'rescuing.' But…I'll think about it. The apartment. The cat seems like too much of a commitment at this point. See you both tomorrow. Check your email for your new assignment, Romanoff."

Hill was gone moments later and Clint was left staring at Natasha. She took his unfinished beer from his hand and flopped onto the sofa with it. "What?"

"What? What?! First you bring in Rogers and now you're inviting Hill to take an apartment here? Do I get any say in this at all?"

"The third floor is mostly clear. You don't think we can trust Hill? And maybe a cat?"

"That's totally beside the point. _We_ own this building. We're supposed to make decisions about stuff like this together. I know you've got a whole new together going these days, but that doesn't mean…"

"You're going to make this about me and Steve? Seriously?"

Clint lowered his head and closed his eyes. He rubbed his temples. Uzbekistan. Tiny redhead. Green eyes. She was looking at him, unblinking, when he opened his eyes. "Tash, do you have any idea what my life would have been like if I'd let that arrow go?"

"Boring," she replied with no hesitation. "But don't beat yourself up. Neither of us would be alive to have this conversation now if you had carried out your orders. Hell, SHIELD would be bankrupted by paying out death benefits to agents' families if not for us. Go upstairs, get some sleep. We'll start fresh in the morning."

"Fresh. Right." She followed him to the door. "Where's Rogers, by the way?"

"Drawing a bath for us."

"Not something I need to picture."

"Then get out, go home and watch some porn. Or call one of the women whose numbers I know you have stored in your phone and go out. Or stalk Hill home. Whatever makes you happy."

"There was a time when sitting here, watching bad movies and drinking beer would have fit that bill."

"Things change, Clint." She raised herself on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Have a good night."

"Guess I don't have to tell you to do the same."

She closed the door without commenting about Captain America waiting for her, naked. It was almost worse than if she'd said it out loud. Almost. Clint sighed and plodded upstairs. He fired at least two quivers into various bullseyes before taking Natasha's suggestion of internet porn seriously. He wondered if Hill would answer his late call, but retreated to his hammock without finding out.


	33. Hot for Teacher

"So is this really going to be, like, classroom work?"

"Didn't you read the email? We spend the first few weeks on geopolitical stuff, then more physical training and practice missions before we get to do some shadowing on basic ops."

"Nothing dangerous, then?"

"They're not gonna send rookies like us on the hard stuff."

"I could handle that shit."

"You think you could do what…"

"Clark, if you say one more word about the Black Widow, I swear to God…"

"Like you're not a total Captain America fanboy, Jacobson."

"You're _both_ pathetic. Captain Rogers has that super serum plus World War II combat experience and Agent Romanoff has a lifetime of espionage training. You think either of you can match up with them, you're fubar."

"And you think you've got a chance, Howard?"

"I think they set a standard we should all attempt to rise to. Not to mention when Agent Romanoff hits you, it fucking hurts."

Outside the conference room, Natasha smiled. Either Howard was the clean-cut, all American Marine he presented himself to be or he had been the only one to figure out that SHIELD wouldn't throw three field agent trainees together prior to their first classroom session without a way to listen in. Or both. No reason the man couldn't be good and smart. She'd learned that much from Steve. After a few barbs about Howard not being able to take a hit – not true, for the record, if Natasha was any judge – she opened the door with a bang to startle the rookies. Howard actually sprang out of his chair to full attention. "As you were, Agent Howard," she said before keying a code into the panel beside the door. "This room is now secure, meaning no one walking by can hear you."

Clark and Jacobson looked up in alarm, while Howard remained impassive. Natasha smiled. "Never just assume it's safe to talk. Especially not in the Triskelion. You say the wrong thing here and you're headed for the subbasement. Nothing good happens in the subbasement."

It was an empty threat, but it did the trick. She sat down at the head of the conference table, resting her cast on the arm of the comfortable padded chair. Steve had made breakfast this morning, including a to-go travel mug of his 'special' coffee – she suspected it was just an extra scoop of grounds that made it taste so good, but she liked the idea that it was special. She took a long sip as she looked at Clark, Howard and Jacobson. "I've never taught this class before. As you can see, I have an injury and the higher-ups asked me to fill in for a bit. I know what I'm supposed to teach you here; SHIELD has been very clear on the curriculum. Since this is technically your first day as field agents, I'm going to change things up a little. What do you want to know?"

The three rookies exchanged glances. Howard was the first to take up her offer. "What's in the subbasement?"

"Prisoner cells, interrogation rooms and an emergency treatment area. Plus some uninteresting storage and power plant stuff." She didn't mention the mysterious underwater hangars Hill had told her, Steve and Clint about over the weekend. Clint was supposed to be doing some extracurricular recon on those this morning. "If you like things dank, specialize in interrogation."

"You're really going to answer all our questions?" Jacobson asked skeptically.

Natasha nodded. "If it doesn't exceed your current security clearance, I'll answer to the best of my knowledge."

"How did you break your arm?"

"All medical information is privileged, so consider it beyond your clearance. Don't ask about Fury's eye, either."

"Okay…I was just wondering because I've seen you around the building lately, so I wanted to know if it happened on a mission or some other way." Jacobson was clearly probing, seeing how far he could go. Smart kid.

She grinned. This was an easy non-answer. "We're not the CIA. You may have even noticed that 'Homeland' is the second word in our agency's official title. Sometimes we work local."

"Will we be working, um, locally a lot?" Clark chimed in.

"No way to know that. Who goes in depends on the mission. Mission depends on a lot of factors."

Clark appeared ready to ask another question, but Jacobson beat her to it. "Are you in a romantic relationship with Captain America.?"

"Captain Rogers," Natasha corrected automatically. Without hesitation she added, "And yes. I am."

He seemed taken aback by her honest answer. "And that's…that's not a problem?"

"For who? Steve and I are quite happy."

"Er, uh, I just meant, doesn't SHIELD have frat regs?"

"Yes. Don't break them."

"But you just said…"

"Let me put it this way. On paper, the rules apply to everyone. In practice, the more indispensable you are to the agency, the more you can get away with, provided you continue to perform in your job. It may not be fair, but that's the way it is."

She spent the next twenty or so minutes answering procedural questions that would probably save the rookies some time as they acclimated to their new jobs when Jacobson came out with, "I know we already addressed the whole frat regs situation, but will we ever be sent on missions that require us to, uh, get close to targets for information?"

"Honey traps? Absolutely. Just bear in mind that you don't choose the targets and most of the people we deal with are not the type you'll want to sleep with. For example, Jacobson, imagine your target is a seventy-five year old Swiss billionaire…"

"Er, I guess I could take one for the team."

"…who's just taken enough Viagra for a horse and expects you to bottom for him?"

"SHIELD would…I might have to do that?"

Natasha paused to allow the tension to build in the room. "Probably not. But this can be an unpredictable business."

A return to mundane questions followed, until Howard came out with a more serious question, "Are we likely to be tasked with assassinations, Ma'am?"

"We have specialists for those missions. That's not to say you'll never be in a position that may require you to defend yourself or others. You've been in combat, correct, Agent Howard?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Some situations will feel a lot like that. Others will be completely different. The object of training is to prepare you to come out of all those situations alive, having completed your mission."

More questions about potential missions followed, keeping the small group occupied until Natasha decided it was time for a break. "Okay, it's almost noon. Be back here for one and we'll get started on the stuff you're supposed to be learning."

The three rookies filed out and she let out a breath. Pinching a pen between her thumb and cast, she attacked the scratchy stitched under the light bandage on her left hand. They'd been driving her nuts for the past hour. She sighed happily with relief.

"Don't pick at those."

"They itch." She looked up and smiled. "That means they're healing. You probably don't have to deal with little tedious parts of healing like that."

"I'll live them vicariously through you." Steve leaned down to kiss her as he set a bag on the table. "I brought lunch. Cheesesteaks."

She reached in eagerly, but the first item out of the paper bag was a shiny red apple. "What's this?"

"People don't bring an apple for the teacher anymore?"

"People actually did that?"

"Only the suck ups."

"So never you?"

"Please, you've seen pictures of me before I got the serum. If I had an apple, I was eating it." He unwrapped one of the large sandwiches and set it in front of her before unwrapping the second for himself. He also uncapped a bottle of water for her as she took her first bite. She reached out with her foot under the table and stroked the inside of his calf with her foot. Although he had a mouthful of cheesesteak, he raised an eyebrow at her. "'ere?"

She swallowed. "I was just saying thanks for being so considerate."

"With your foot up my pants?"

"It's rude to talk with your mouth full," she replied with a coy grin. "Of course, if you're thinking about me with a mouthful…"

"Nat…"

"What? You brought me an amazing lunch." She took a large bite and smiled before starting to chew it.

"You are such a tease."

"Mmm." She resumed rubbing his leg under the table. "You doing anything interesting today?"

"Been in Research all morning. They didn't find anything weird in Vasily's papers. Well, maybe one thing."

"The payback for sexy teasing is not professional teasing. Tell me what they found."

"Stop with the foot and I will." She obediently withdrew from the hem of his pants. "Right. There were a couple of documents and receipts from or referring to Volgograd."

"I didn't see anything like that in Russian when I looked through them. I mean, I saw a couple of receipts in Russian, but nothing to indicate where they were from." She took a sip of her water. "I guess that's why we have dedicated researchers."

"Right. They tracked some hotel and restaurant receipts that put him there. And the documents? That's the crazy thing. The documents referring to Volgograd were in German. Coded German. So far they know it involves some kind of genetics lab. Who do we know that would be interested in genetics?"

"Everyone, Steve. It's the 21st century."

"Fine. But who might want to develop a super soldier serum?"

"Also everyone. Honestly, do you not pay attention when we watch the news during dinner? Or, like, _ever _when we're at work?" She winked to let him know she wasn't seriously discounting his information. In fact, she was trying to remember all the sites she'd been to in Volgograd, either on KGB or SHIELD business. "I guess we should let Research do their job and see if they come up with anything."

"Are you…" His eyes went wide as she delivered a sharp kick to his shin under the table; she hadn't reengaged the security protocols when the rookie agents had left for lunch. She directed a significant look at the panel. He nodded in sudden understanding and continued, "…going to be finished early today?"

"Not sure. Why? Are we doing something fun tonight?"

He chuckled. "I didn't have anything specific planned, but…I won't work out too hard this afternoon if you're planning to have your way with me when we get home."

"You better shower if you work up a sweat or I'm not touching you."

"I think I read somewhere that women who are exposed to male sweat for a certain number of hours a day are happier and more balanced than women who don't."

"Great. My boyfriend reads Cosmo."

"I think it was on the Internet…"

"Always a reliable source of information. Tell you what, why don't you swing by Research on your way to the gym and see if they can find anything to support your sweaty man stink theory."

They went back to their lunches, though she pretended not to hear him mutter, "You like the way I smell."

She wasn't about to admit that when people could be listening.

* * *

><p>Clint forced himself not to cough as he slithered through another dusty air duct. He was torn between completing his self-appointed mission into the bowels of SHIELD and reporting directly to Fury regarding the potential security fiasco the vents presented. No reason he couldn't do both in good time. He hadn't passed so much as a motion sensor in the ducts. Granted, most people wouldn't be able to navigate a ventilation system with such narrow ducts and tight corners, but the kind of people who might want infiltrate SHIELD wouldn't be…he tried not to think about that. From the humidity, he suspected he'd been underwater for the better part of twenty minutes. It had taken him over half an hour to get to the subbasement level after he'd started from the locker room, one of the few places he knew there were no cameras to record his disappearance.<p>

According to Hill, there was a huge hangar bay under the Potomac that had existed since the original construction of the Triskelion, sealed off from the main building. It had been built first in the hopes of developing a submarine fleet that could move assets in and out of the country undetected, then as a potential supermax prison, then three or four other projects that had never come to fruition. Hill hadn't even been sure that the area was being used now, although she consistently signed off on the budget expenses of the team of assiduous team of HVAC and pump men quarter after quarter without question. SHIELD budgets were all three-hundred dollar hammers and ten-thousand dollar toilet seats, anyway – real expenses spread out over mundane items to "hide" the money in billable items.

If the amount of air moving past was any indication, the space was not only in use, but actively so. Clint had expected humidity, but not warmth. Warmth meant work; warmth meant breathing. There were also some heavy duty fans working, increasing the level of danger in this mission. And fun. Danger had always been equated with fun in his mind. Dust, not so much. He suppressed another cough as he worked his way carefully and silently over another of the huge vents. The engineering that had gone into this place was unbelievable. It seemed stupid to just waste it for years and years and…

Clint paused over a grating. Okay. Maybe not such a waste. He tilted his head to try and get a better view. He was going to have to crawl at least another few hundred yards for a complete view, but he snapped a few pictures through the grate anyway. He hadn't brought more than one extra roll of film, so every shot needed to count. Stark had seen his camera once and nearly laughed himself stupid, offering to replace the Olympus relic with the latest in digital technology. Clint had not-so-politely declined. He and Natasha had put together a dark room next to the garage in their building. There were some things you could only trust to yourselves, and having them on film made them that much harder to steal. This was definitely one of those times.

He continued his crawl, every glimpse to the floor several stories below confirming his initial impressions. He was able to work the grate off silently from one of the central ducts and take some photographs of the entire complex – or they would be comprehensive when put together. There was that much damn space down here. He carefully replaced the grating and made the turn inside the narrow duct. If the rookies Natasha was teaching today wanted a real lesson, they'd be here, now, learning how to…no. There was an extremely small circle of trust happening at the moment and they weren't about to admit anyone they didn't know. Not to mention how loud they would have been.

He crawled and climbed, alone with his thoughts, for what seemed like forever. He wouldn't have been doing any of this if not for Tash. And Hill. He needed to stop allowing unattainable women control his actions. That would be a good excuse if anyone caught him in here while doing routine maintenance, though that seemed like wishful thinking if the layers of dust were any indication.

He paused in one of his more obscure nests, hidden at the conjunction of several major air ducts. He quickly exchanged his grim-covered jumpsuit (a haz-mat special disposable onesie he could toss in any dumpster, provided it was miles away) for gym clothes and rubbed his face and hands down with baby wipes. He waited until he was sure no one was in the locker room and popped out of the ceiling right over his own locker. He hid the camera in Rogers' locker, just in case someone had been suspicious of his absence. No one had ever questioned his disappearances before, but with three secret helicarriers being built in the secret hangars in a secret section of the Triskelion, this seemed like a good time for a healthy dose of paranoia.

He decided to put in an appearance in the gym before heading home early to develop the pictures. Tash was going to be _pissed_ she wasn't the first to find out about this.


End file.
